Disarm
by allsevendwarves
Summary: Sometimes, the only way to conquer the enemy is to first surrender one's own arms. (Elsa/Hans) [COMPLETED]
1. Chapter 1

**Expanded Summary:** Elsa must travel to the Southern Isles for Hans' trial and sentencing. The last thing she expects after her arrival is for one of his brothers to ask the unthinkable of her: to grant Hans her pardon and spare him his life. What will it take to convince Elsa to push past the pain and hurt Hans caused and grant him a second chance?

_The killer in me is the killer in you._

_I send this smile over to you._

-The Smashing Pumpkins, _Disarm_

**ONE**

Raindrops from the fresh shower that had just fallen rested lightly on the crimson petals of roses past which they had just ridden. Momentarily crystallized, they reflected the white moonlight and twinkled like tiny diamonds, as if each one had been sewn onto a perfect place on each petal by a most delicate and careful hand.

This was what had first triggered the memory.

It had snuck up on her, like the wisp of a scent that had not been detected in years, and Elsa was startled. She blinked and sat up straight, for a moment uncertain as to whether the image had, in fact, been a memory and not some trick of her imagination.

Anna and Kristoff slept on the seat across from her, unaware of her silent unease. Anna's head rolled and jerked on his shoulder with every stone the carriage trotted over; Kristoff's was cocked back, nose pointing to the carriage ceiling. Both mouths hung open, each dripping drool just off the side.

Elsa leaned out the window, watching the roses with hungry curiosity, as if scribbled upon one she could somehow find an explanation. Something to further expand the knowledge of her vision.

A shadow fell across her face and she looked up. One of the guards riding alongside the carriage on his horse leaned over. "Is everything all right, Your Majesty?"

It took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts and reply that yes, everything was just fine. He assured her that the castle gates would be just past the bridge up ahead, perhaps suspecting that she was impatient to arrive. Elsa didn't bother correcting him, no matter how wrong his assumptions might be; she thanked him and retreated into the carriage, gaze still fixed on the landscape outside the window.

She was exhausted. And yet, as much as every muscle in her body begged for rest, her stomach twisted at the thought of where she'd be sleeping tonight.

She was certain that the bed would be comfortable, that she would be provided with the softest, warmest sheets. Dinner would be a feast fit to feed whole towns. There would be servants at her beck and call—people ready to drop what they were doing at a moment's notice to satisfy her every whim.

Yes, as Queen, she could expect to be lavished with the best of everything. But this was no luxury vacation. Elsa would have quickly traded all the comfort and extravagance that awaited her for a hard, damp spot under the bridge just to avoid spending time with the Southern Isles' royal family. She would swim her way back to Arendelle if it meant not having to come face-to-face once more with the man who had, hardly a month ago, attempted to murder her and her sister.

But that was a futile wish. Even if she could manage to avoid him in real life, he would surely continue to appear in her dreams.

Up ahead, the castle spires loomed in the distance, reaching up to pierce black skies.

What an odd time, she thought, to be remembering a fair-haired girl kneeling in a shadowed garden, holding a rose made of ice while an auburn haired boy peered on from behind a row of iron bars.

* * *

**A/N:** Just swooping in real quick to give my beta **fluggerbutter** a shout out and a MASSIVE thank you for helping out with this fic! *round of applause* :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:**Hey everyone! Just wanted to take a quick second to thank everyone who took the time out to read this. This is definitely going to be a multi-chapter story (started out as a one-shot plot bunny and somehow grew out of control as that idea developed as it seems to happen with any short story I attempt to write). Okay, I think that's it for today—hope you guys enjoy! (And don't forget to leave a review! They're the second best things in the world next to chocolate.)

**TWO**

Elsa had been relieved when the dinner feast was over. Like a drowning person scurrying to escape the waters that engulfed her, she had retreated to her room—which, though unfamiliar, had become as a breath of fresh air to her constricting lungs.

His eyes had been everywhere. They had peered at her, from time to time, from across the dinner table, in that same shade of vivid green, or else in hues of blue or brown or gray. All eleven pairs had taken turns testing her self-control—every single glance a tear in the fabric of her sanity. Elsa had never avoided looking so many people in the eyes before.

Twelve brothers—but Elsa had counted only eleven. When she didn't find her would-be killer in the eyes of one, she found him in the smile of another, or in the flow of his movements, the timbre of his voice. Certainly the physique of the eldest five—Jon, Jakob, Joris, Jorg and Josef—was entirely their own. They were far larger than the other, leaner six, with hair a deeper chestnut brown as opposed to the auburn of the rest.

Prince Jon, in particular, seemed to Elsa like someone she'd read about in books of Greek mythology: a being with internal power that shone through his physique. His torso was roughly the size of a redwood tree trunk; she was under the impression that it was wholly within his capacity to crush a person with one hand. When he walked, the swing of his arms was a constant threat to anyone standing nearby. The boom of his voice was almost as large as he was, and still able to silence with a single whisper.

What Elsa found most surprising was his jolly disposition—at least, for a man of such threatening build. As the immediate heir to the throne and the prince regent since his father had fallen ill, he seemed far too comfortable with his subordinates. His constant jesting and teasing, whether it be with a royal or with a servant, disconcerted her. She was having a difficult time correlating the two characteristics, as if something were missing in the middle to hold it all together. As such, she found herself holding tight to her guard in spite of all signs pointing to safety—though not without a slight sense of guilt.

He had been nothing but courteous to her, Anna, and Kristoff, not to mention their whole party of servants and guards. He had even arranged for a welcoming feast to be thrown in their honor. But Elsa had found it difficult to laugh with sincerity when he tried to make light of their current situation. His brother was on trial for trying to murder her and her sister—did that not shame him in the slightest way?

She told herself she was being unfair. But in her defense, she had only met one member of his family before, and he'd left a tainted impression. It was only natural that she should have a hard time warming up to what seemed to be the friendliest of his relatives. Even if his constant teasing and so-called playful requests for her to procure some ice for his cup left a bad taste in her mouth. But as everyone around the table laughed, Elsa couldn't decide if she was simply being paranoid and taking things too personally.

She had counted the seconds until she parted with them all. And yet, even with all the comfort she could ever need in her room, she had been unable to harvest sleep, and so, like every night for the last thirteen years, Elsa rose out of bed to acquaint herself with the brand new night.

The fresh cut grass prickled the soles of Elsa's feet, her shadow dragging slanted behind her as she moved across the grounds of the castle. Solitary midnight walks were becoming a habit with her. She had been a slave to insomnia for many years now, as it came without fail every night to raise her from her already frail sleep; and like someone imprisoned for longer than they have known freedom, she had grown to accept her incarcerator and welcome it as an old friend, following it by the hand without fuss to wherever it may lead. At least now she could step outside for a meditative stroll.

One might argue that she rose on purpose. That she wanted to bathe in the velvety glow of the moonlight. Such a silly thing to crave—but to Elsa, there would never be enough moonlit nights to make up for all those she had lost.

Over the last few weeks, she had developed an almost childlike curiosity for nature. It was as if she had been given her senses back, touching, smelling, hearing, tasting, seeing without apprehension. A dead soul revived, dug out from the murkiest depths of Hades' realm.

She followed a pebbled path that cut along the side of the castle, walking in intervals over the path and the grass that surrounded it, ensuring that her feet experienced both. At the end of the path stood a long, black iron fence, spikes turned upward toward the skies. All along it were bushes of red roses that paled in the moonlight, standing guard. Beyond the fence, the lake glittered silver and white, stretching out towards the black hills on the other side.

Elsa didn't make it all the way to the end. Halfway there, she stopped, stricken—by what, she wasn't sure. There was nothing particularly alluring about this view. It was an ordinary fence, separating the castle grounds from the lake and the land beyond.

But a sudden nostalgia gripped her by the throat and left her almost breathless. Inside her head, there was a ticking, a soundless pulsing; it rushed along images that refused to make themselves apparent—that perhaps didn't really exist.

She had taken just one step forward when a voice rang out from the darkness.

"Queen Elsa?"

She froze. Then she turned, looking over her shoulder and watching in silence as a man emerged from behind a pine tree on the other side of the path. She paid attention to little else when those green eyes came into view, unnervingly bright even in the nighttime blackness. The auburn hair—the pale skin, translucent in the moonlight—blurred with everything else around her. The eyes had been enough.

Her breath caught in her chest and she took several steps back. It was him. He who haunted her fragmented sleep, every night rebirthing her sins into her subconscious.

"_Your sister's dead…because of you."_

"Don't come any closer!" she shouted, as she continued her retreat.

"Queen Elsa—" he began, a pleading hand stretching out towards her.

Panic coursed through her like cracks on ice—each fissure multiplying, branching out, creating a web that overpowered her senses. All she had to go on was the frantic beating of her heart.

It was happening again. She felt the surge crawling just beneath her skin, forcing its way out. There would be nothing she could do stop it.

"Please, let me explain. I'm—"

"I said stay away!"

One last step backward and Elsa felt the sharp ends of twigs and branches digging into her back. With a quick glance over her shoulder and a rushed gasp, she found herself pressed against the hedge that enclosed the garden. As her hands flattened against it, and as the realization that she was trapped finally sank in, it happened.

A flash of white and the hedge turned into a wall of ice.

Elsa stepped away, recoiling, staring in horror at her unintentional creation. It had been weeks since she'd had an incident, since she'd last lost control. Had she been a fool to think she'd never have to worry again?

"Queen Elsa…"

Elsa spun around, startled to find her pursuer closing in. Just as he was about to reach out for her, she turned and ran, the tips of his fingers grazing the sleeve of her robes as she slipped past.

Her harried breath blared in the stillness of the night. She kept running—though to where, she didn't know. Up ahead the fence stood in the way of her escape. Maybe she could slip through, or create a hasty, glacial staircase—but how could she run and leave Anna behind? She had to warn her in some way, tell her it had all been a trick.

Instinctively, she once more looked over her shoulder, towards the man who still chased after her with a dogged persistence. But that one moment of distraction cost her, and the hem of her nightgown caught on one of the rose bushes, tugging her back and bringing her down to her knees. The ground beneath her frosted over the instance it met her hands. Behind her, her pursuer slipped on the ice and fell with a thud; as he groaned, Elsa struggled to set herself free.

"Queen Elsa, please—I'm not Hans!"

It took Elsa a moment to register his words. Her chest still heaved as she slowly turned to look at him.

He was propped on all fours, gingerly moving towards her. If she hadn't been so terrified, Elsa would have laughed to see a grown man so awkwardly crawling his way to her.

Perhaps if she lived to see daylight she would laugh about it with Anna.

She shifted back and held out her hand in defense. "Don't try anything funny—I don't want to hurt you."

"Neither do I," the man replied. At last he arrived and knelt before her, again reaching forward with one hand. Elsa held her breath and braced herself for whatever was to come next.

He reached into the rosebush and with one hard tug tore her silk robe from the branches.

He handed the torn fabric to her. "I'm sorry. It was either that or ripping the bush out. I figured this was easier."

Elsa quietly took the hem into her hand before venturing a good look up at his face.

Yes, the eyes were identical. But in the hysteria that had taken over her moments before, she had failed to see the difference in the structure of his face. Hans had had that plumpness and pinkness of youth in his cheeks, the fresh, bright awareness in the eyes of a person who had entered the world not so long ago. The cheekbones of the man before her were far more defined, evolved with maturity; around his mouth and eyes, the lines distinct.

Upon closer inspection, the eyes themselves had a different intensity. Comparable though they might be, this man's eyes were duller, worn out—they had seen far more than Hans' ever had.

Perhaps too much.

"I'm sorry, Queen Elsa," Hans' double began carefully, "but do you think you could..." He cast the frozen ground a timid glance. "I'm not very good at keeping my balance on ice."

"Oh!" said Elsa, her cheeks flushing. "Y-yes, of course."

Elsa placed her hand over the sheet of ice and, channeling her strength, pulled everything back into her, watching the grounds becoming grassy again as it shrank.

"Thank you," the man said, as he pushed himself up unto his feet. Once standing, he bowed, holding his hand out for her to take.

Finally convincing herself that he wasn't Hans and that he meant her no harm, Elsa took his hand and was quickly on her feet.

"I'm sorry if I frightened you. It really wasn't my intention. Sometimes I forget how very alike Hans and I can appear."

"Which brother are you?"

"Number twelve," he said, then added with a small smile, "although I'd prefer it if you called me Gregor."

Elsa smiled feebly in appreciation for his attempt at humor. She felt it was exceedingly kind of him to jest after what she had just put him through.

"I don't remember seeing you at the feast," she said.

"That's because I wasn't there."

"Oh?"

"I was down in the dungeons, keeping my brother company."

Elsa's face opened up with understanding before she cast her eyes down.

"I hope you'll forgive me for not being there to welcome you, but I couldn't help feeling guilty being up there celebrating your visit while he remained locked up alone down there. To be honest, I don't think I would've enjoyed myself very much."

"No, I understand," said Elsa.

"My other brothers don't quite care so much."

"Are you and Prince Hans close, then?"

"I suppose you could say that," said Gregor. "I understand him better than anyone else. Better than my older brothers, for certain. They all say I'm too soft."

Elsa's mouth pulled into a tight line—a non-committal half-smile, half-grimace. While she wanted to appeal to this softer side of Gregor, she also couldn't forget that the man he spoke about had tried to kill her and her sister. There wasn't much that she couldn't say on the subject that wouldn't be either blunt hypocrisy or hurtful.

"Please, don't think for a moment that I'm condoning any of his actions—especially his recent ones," Gregor said, almost as if reading her mind. "But you do understand he's my brother. He's more to me than the sum of his actions, good or bad. He's the boy I threw a ball around with as kids, the one I taught how to ride a horse, the only one he cried to when our mother passed away. I know it's hard to see it, but there's a human being in there—"

"Please, Prince Gregor," said Elsa. "I really don't think this is the time or the moment for this conversation. I also don't think I'm the appropriate person to be saying these things to."

"Oh, but you're the perfect person," said Gregor.

Elsa looked up at him quizzically.

"Queen Elsa, I don't know how much you know about Hans' options, but they basically boil down to two: after his trial, he will either be sentenced to exile at the isle of Muros, to where our vilest of criminals are sent, or…"

Gregor straightened, as if building up courage. Elsa waited and watched.

"The other option, Queen Elsa, is the death penalty."

Elsa frowned. "Surely your brothers wouldn't sentence one of their own to death."

Gregor scoffed. "You wouldn't think so, would you?"

Elsa eyed him skeptically, unsure that she understood what he was trying to say, unsure of how much she could actually trust him.

"I assume you're up at this late hour for the same reason I am," said Gregor. "A loyal friend I like to call insomnia?"

She nodded, not sure where he was taking this.

"Well then, would you like to join me for a stroll? I have rather lengthy story to tell."

Elsa didn't move, though chaos seemed to erupt within her. She swallowed as she tried to summon a quick reply from the hundreds of panicked thoughts that had just broken out inside her head.

"I'm sorry… I don't know if that's such a good idea," she said, squeezing one hand in the other.

"I promise you, Queen Elsa, it's just a walk. I think you'll appreciate me shedding some light on a topic which I'm quite sure you still have many questions about. If at any moment you feel threatened—well, you do have ice magic, and I'm completely unarmed."

Elsa stared at him for a moment as she considered this. At last, deciding that he was right and that she didn't have anything to lose, she conceded.

She joined him as they slowly made their way down the pebbled path, headed in the direction of the iron fence.

"I'm going to go ahead and assume, since you've only recently become queen, that you're still somewhat new to the ways of this world of monarchies and power," said Gregor. He walked at a steady pace, hands clasped behind his back. "You still don't know what people are capable of to get it when it's dangled in front of their noses."

"I daresay, I have _some_ idea," said Elsa.

She glanced at him from the corner of her eye and saw him cast his eyes down. He pressed his lips together in that same noncommittal gesture she'd made before.

Feeling her gut sink with guilt, she retracted, "I'm sorry—I don't mean to—"

"Please, Your Majesty, don't apologize," he said. "While I'm willing to advocate for my brother, I'm not about to pretend he's a saint."

Elsa turned her gaze down to her feet.

"You're right, you do have some firsthand experience with this ruthless game of power," he said. "Where to begin, then?"

They walked in silence a few moments, Gregor's eyes following his feet. Then he looked up and smiled—that kind, modest smile, too pure and too convincing to be real. At least for someone who looked so much like Hans. Elsa turned her eyes away, lest she allow herself to be fooled again.

"I suppose the beginning is just as good place as any," he said. "Let's see…well, there's always been somewhat of a divide between my five eldest brothers and the rest of us. You see, Jon, Jakob, Joris, Jorg and Josef are our half-brothers, born to my father's first wife—a woman he was forced to marry while he was still just a prince because she was of noble blood—or, shall I say, _acceptable_ blood.

"But she passed away after my father became king... by then, he had the power to do whatever he wanted and marry whomever he chose. So he sought out my mother—a poor peasant woman and the only one he'd ever loved. He finally married her and made her his queen. She bore him eight children, myself and Hans included.

"My five eldest brothers were never keen on our mother, never quite accepted her. I don't suppose it's an easy truth to swallow when you find out your father never loved your mother and has brought in a replacement to live with you. I suppose that contempt against her stretched out to her eight children. They were never affectionate with any of us… even in the rough ways that brothers have with each other. There was never a moment of bonding, of true kinship between us. They always made sure the division was tangible. That whatever we were, we were nothing. Five of them would rule this kingdom before any of us. They were the true royalty of the Southern Isles. We were simply unfortunate accidents, superfluous in this world."

"It was eight of you against five of them," said Elsa. "Did that not matter?"

Gregor shook his head. "Not in the least bit. You see, the rift between the five eldest isn't the only one that exists."

Elsa frowned. "What do you mean?"

Gregor exhaled before continuing. "I mean that the six directly before me aren't fond of Hans…or me, for that matter, for always sticking my hand in the fire for him.

"The seven of us were close, in spite of the five eldest casting us off. Our mother was attentive, always encouraging us to see past their estrangement. And then one day, when I was ten years old, Hans was born—and everything changed.

"He was my mother's favorite. It was obvious. I think with seven grown boys she was glad to once again have a baby in her arms. The difference was always clear, whether she meant it to be or not. I don't think she did. The others, however…

"They picked on him because they were jealous. And my mother was so lenient with him. He could get away with anything. I think perhaps that's where he got his confidence, his recklessness... somewhere in his mind he believed he could do whatever he wanted, never have to account for anything. He was so troublesome as a boy."

An image of a young auburn haired boy running rampant through the grounds flashed in Elsa's mind. The echo of his own laughter seemed to trail him like floating bubbles escaping his mouth. But the vision didn't last long. The instant she tried to match him up to the face she knew, the voice that tormented her dreams, it didn't fit. Like trying to fit a block into a circular hole, that laughing boy from her imagination couldn't be the same man who'd come into her kingdom, deceived everyone and then tried to kill her.

Though still somewhat guarded to Gregor's story, she continued listening.

"You see that lake there? The fence that cuts it off wasn't always around. At the age of six, Hans was playing by himself; he took the boat out and tried to cross it on his own. He fell overboard and nearly drowned. My mother herself jumped in there to save him. Can you imagine, the Queen of the Southern Isles, drenched from head to foot, pulling her precious baby boy out of the lake? It was all anyone could talk about. The Queen reverting back to her peasant ways. That she went in to save her son was of no importance.

"Either way, she pulled Hans out of there herself. But that same day you could say he sentenced her to death."

"What happened?" Elsa asked softly.

"It was winter and the water was too cold. Hans survived, I suppose because he was younger. But my mother… she was older and not as strong. She fell ill and by the end of the week she was gone."

Gregor was staring out towards the lake, his brow slightly furrowed. Elsa felt her own chest tighten. As much as she wanted to remain detached from his story, she couldn't help but feel the fresh sting of a wound that had never quite healed for her. Despicable though Hans might be, Elsa knew firsthand the pain of losing a parent and she would never wish it on anyone, not even him.

"I'm so sorry," said Elsa.

He gave her a weak smile. "It was a long time ago."

"Not for your brothers, though. They blame him, don't they?"

"Yes," he said, his tone grim. "Their childish jealousy turned into a lifelong resentment. First, he made her neglect them, and then he took her away completely… I think somehow they forget that he lost her too, that day.

"And now they see his sentencing as an opportunity," he concluded. "Somehow all of them have united against him. The five eldest, as the highest rulers, claim he's brought shame to our kingdom with what he did in Arendelle. They say that treason against one of our greatest allies is treason against our own crown. They've been trying to pin the acts of rebellion and anarchy that have erupted throughout the kingdom on him since my father fell ill, and now they finally have their golden ticket. The six that follow echo that claim whether they believe it or not, because they seek—I don't know—compensation? That is what I presume. Compensation for the mother they lost."

Elsa remained silent simply because she could find nothing sympathetic to say. Her bond with her own sister was so strong, in spite of their struggles, in spite of years or estrangement, in spite of everything they'd been through. It almost seemed inconceivable that siblings would behave as the Westergards had done – with so much hostility and detachment…as if the blood that ran through their veins wasn't the same. And yet, Elsa felt that a glimmer of light was now shining on her understanding of Hans' character. Surely no one brought up under such conditions could ever grow up to harbor a warm heart.

Gregor continued. "For the first time in my life, I see my half-brothers and the other six on the same side; all these years of segregation, and they have come together over this one morbid cause. My father has no idea. He's hardly ever lucid anymore. Perhaps he was never the most nurturing of parents, but I'm sure he wouldn't allow this. Jon, as his direct heir, is taking advantage of the situation, fueling my brothers' enthusiasm by granting them positions in his immediate circle and promises of grandeur once he's king."

"Hasn't he offered you anything?"

"He's tried, but I've refused. I simply try to stay out of his way. Best to let him think I'm harmless."

Elsa watched him warily. "Aren't you?"

Gregor gave her a small smile. "I am… unless I've an important objective in mind and someone's trying to stop me from getting it."

Elsa inhaled sharply.

"Queen Elsa," said Gregor, stepping in front of her so that they stood face to face. "I realize that what I'm about to ask you is really too much, but I must… I cannot let this opportunity pass me by."

"Prince Gregor—"

"Please… I trust you have a kind, forgiving heart…"

"Prince Gregor, I—"

"…and I know that the actions of my brother are inexcusable..."

"—I really don't—"

"Queen Elsa," said Gregor despairingly, his tired eyes wearing more by the second. "He's my brother. He's all I have. One word from you to Jon, and Hans could live… a pardon from the victim to the High Judge is all that is needed. He doesn't need to go free. All I ask is that you let him live…"

Elsa stared plainly into his face, downtrodden by the eyes of a broken, hopeless man who was shedding his last ounce of pride in front of her to ask for the unthinkable.

She swallowed through a lump in her throat and brought her eyes down to his chin. She was the Snow Queen, but how difficult she found it, at times, to be heartless and cold.

"Prince Gregor," she began plainly. "I'm terribly sorry for your pain. I'm sorry that you're losing your brother. I'm sorry for your own family's shortcomings. I am sorry, in short, for this whole ordeal. I never asked for any of this, and neither did you, I'm sure. Perhaps if Prince Hans' assault had been directed only towards myself, I might be more inclined to make some allowances. But the moment he deceived and left my sister for dead, he took away that privilege for himself. Perhaps this is something he should have thought about before coming to Arendelle and attempting to kill us both. Now, if you'll excuse me…"

Elsa turned, her robes swinging around her, her courage teetering like a lose icicle inside her. But before she could take a step forward, she felt Gregor's fingers wrap firmly around her upper arm.

She turned in shock. "What are you doing? Let me go!"

"Haven't you ever done something wrong in your life?" he demanded, a slight vigor returning to his worn-out, weary eyes.

"Prince Gregor, you are outstepping your boundaries!"

"Have you never wronged someone before? Have you never made such a chaos of things that everyone wanted you dead?"

"I never purposely attempted to kill anyone!"

"And in your mind there's no possibility that perhaps Hans, too, made a mistake? Have you ever considered that maybe he, too, was desperate? Is a man not allowed to lose control, lose his mind once in his lifetime?"

"My situation was entirely different," said Elsa, though she couldn't fully look Gregor in the eyes as she said this. "Your brother is a selfish, greedy monster. Perhaps you would be wise to distance yourself from him before you find yourself dragged into his messes."

"And did your sister distance herself from you when there was no one left to believe in your innocence? Have you forgotten the importance of one person's trust in you?"

Elsa was used to the cold, but this sensation was unfamiliar: this cold lump in the pit of her stomach that left her speechless, wiped clean of retorts.

Gregor watched her a second longer, perhaps searching her face for the hint of tenderness Elsa had long ago learned to hide. She turned her own gaze away to the hard ground, her stony expression unflinching.

At last, he released his grip on her and stepped back, his face grim, stripped of optimism, the gentle kindness she had first noticed in him absent.

"Forgive me, Your Majesty," said Gregor. "I should have known it was too much. I'll trouble you no more."

He gave a slight bow of his head before turning and heading in the opposite direction.

Elsa watched him for a while as his figure became smaller. She finally turned and, wrapping her arms around herself, she headed back into the castle, shivering ever so slightly as she cut through that warm summer night.


	3. Chapter 3

**THREE**

A light frost had slowly begun creeping up the four wooden legs of Elsa's chair. It went unnoticed as a wooden divider separated her, Anna, and the dignitaries from the rest of the room; even Elsa herself remained oblivious, ignorant of how tightly her hands squeezed the end of each armrest. A slight chill lingered in the air around her, but no one thought the drop in temperature unusual—the atmosphere in the courtroom was cold all on its own.

Across the room were eleven seats. Six of them were empty; on the occupied five, Elsa recognized Joris, Jakob, Jorg, Josef and Gregor. The first four remained attentive to the document Prince Jon was reading from the High Judge's stand. Gregor kept his eyes fixedly on his lap, stare as vacant as the seats around him—he had glanced up once and caught her eye, but then looked away with such indifference that Elsa would have preferred if he'd blatantly glared at her. And yet, in spite of the guilt she felt at Gregor's taciturn disposition, Elsa couldn't help wishing that it were the biggest of her worries.

She had to keep reminding herself to take deep breaths. Sometimes it felt like she hadn't been breathing for several minutes at a time. The muscles in her neck and back were cramped and she fidgeted to try and relax them, but she might as well have been trying to wring out a block of ice; the stress she was under was almost unbearable, and the maniacally bobbing foot under her chair was her only form of release. And what was it all for? No amount of tension was going to help her avoid the inevitable.

"Bring out the accused," said Prince Jon, lifting his eyes off the document, removing his glasses.

Elsa kept her gaze down as five figures emerged from a door to her right, digging her fingernails into the armrests of the chair as the cold surged beneath her skin. The moment she had been dreading since receiving this trial's summons had finally come. And though she had tirelessly reassured herself that when the moment came she would be in control, she knew now that she had been a fool to believe it.

She was fully aware that she would erupt with unbounded rage—or fear—the second she laid eyes on him. Either emotion would take full command, whip at her in such a way that she would once more find herself isolated inside her own mind; there would be little else to guide her and she would lose control again as she had last month in Arendelle, as she had last night in the gardens when Gregor had pursued her. It was the same every time. Why should she expect it to turn out any differently now?

The only thing left to do was hope. For what, she wasn't even sure. A miracle, perhaps—but she had never been one to believe in any of that. Hope had done nothing but fail her countless times in the past.

Still, to adamant hope she clung as she lifted her eyes.

Elsa's breath caught in her chest at the scene before her. Whatever did whip at her wasn't fear, and it certainly wasn't rage, but her eyes widened: every organ inside her seemed to drop. Beside her, Anna let out a small gasp. (Out of her peripheral vision, Elsa saw her raise her hand to her mouth.)

Prince Hans of the Southern Isles stood at the center of four guards, guided out by chains attached to the cuffs around his neck and limbs. His head was lowered, his shoulders slumped. The loud haul of the chains cut through the low rumbling that had overcome the crowd in the courtroom.

His once neat and glistening auburn hair was now dull and disheveled. Skin that she had expected to be glowing had obtained an anemic, greenish pallor—or at least, so had the spaces of his face that weren't covered with facial hair. What had previously been a crisp white naval suit was now reduced to a pair of trousers and blouse, both of which were so stained with dirt and mud that they had long lost any hope of being white again... and gone were the lustrous black boots that had once caught the light of her palace's chandelier with every turn he had made on the dance floor. Prince Hans of the Southern Isles now dragged himself across the sparkling marble floors of the courtroom on soiled bare feet.

Elsa was revolted in a way she hadn't expected. Wasn't she supposed to hate the very essence of this man's being? And yet, somehow, that hatred seemed to fade into the background as his current condition took center stage. She was forced to fight a swelling emotion inside her: tender around the edges, grasping at parts of her still left unguarded.

Fearing that instinct would rule out cognitive thought, she cast her eyes down.

"Prince Hans," said Prince Jon. "You are hereby accused of treason on several counts against the crown of Arendelle and the Southern Isles: one count of attempted murder against Her Majesty, Queen Elsa. One count of attempted murder against Her Highness, Princess Anna. One count for breaking the peace pact with our neighbors and loyal friends at Arendelle. Two counts for liberating captured rebels imprisoned for crimes against the crown of the Southern Isles—"

"You have no proof of that!"

The sound of his voice rang out across the courtroom and sent chills down Elsa's spine. Its timbre touched a nerve inside that kick-started her shallow breathing once more.

"Silence!" said Prince Jon. It was hard to tell whether he'd meant to yell, or had simply spoken.

"You can't pin that on me, Jon! You can't just throw—"

"_Enough_!"

This time he _had_ yelled, and Elsa thought she felt her chair vibrate with the reverberation.

Prince Jon leaned over the stand, towering over his brother. "With or without those charges you still have enough on your plate to name you an enemy of the crown! At this point, what does proof matter?" He sat back down and cast his eyes back to the scroll in front of him, clearing his throat. "Now, how do you plead?"

Elsa waited for the sound that never came.

Slowly, she looked up at Hans. He was staring at the floor in front of him, eyebrows deeply furrowed, a red mark rimming his neck where the edges of his cuff dug. On his pale skin, it stood out like a choker of fresh blood.

"_How do you plead?_" Prince Jon repeated.

Hans' lips curled. Elsa waited, hands now clasped on her lap, nails biting into her own flesh.

"Guilty."

Elsa blinked. She and Anna exchanged glances while the room around them erupted with a buzzing.

A small smile crept across Jon's lips. "Thought better of it, didn't you?"

Hans didn't reply. He didn't even look up at his condemner. His brother. His own flesh and blood.

"Take him away," the prince ordered.

One of the guards yanked at the chain around Hans' neck. Hans pulled back for a moment, grimacing, before the guard tugged again and he had no choice but to move.

Elsa wanted to look away but she couldn't. She found her gaze fixed on him as he neared her side of the room.

_"Why did you bring me here?"_

Cuffs had encased her hands once, too. Chains had once also bound her to the dungeons of her own palace. She had also stood alone and terrified, desperate for a single soul who was willing to help, willing to understand.

_"I couldn't just let them kill you."_

Funny that he had been that person. Funny that the eyes that terrorized her were the same to see her with compassion. Funny that once he had been that gentle ally, a tiny, welcome ember burning in a desert of snow.

But that had all been a lie.

As he passed her, he looked up and met her gaze.

Instantly, Elsa's blood ran cold through her veins. There they were. The emerald eyes that haunted her dreams every night.

"Elsa?" whispered Anna, placing a hand lightly on her sister's wrist. Elsa tore her eyes away and turned to her.

She followed the young princess's gaze and found that her chair had turned to ice.

Elsa and Anna's footsteps resounded on the cobbled grounds of the courtyard, steady and isolated, like the somber beating of a funeral drum march. They had said nothing to each other since leaving the hearing. Not for lack of something to say, either; their racing thoughts were copious, entangling, crisscrossing each other at lightning speed, and they each struggled to convey their emotional onslaught.

In the pit of Elsa's stomach there was an emptiness stemmed from dissatisfaction. She had walked out of the hearing more disturbed than when she'd gone in. She tried to pinpoint, within herself, a reason, something to clarify these feelings and put them to rest, but she didn't realize her mind just kept dancing around it, avoiding the core of the sore spot.

Of course, she could always count on Anna to put her feelings into precise words.

"He deserves this," said Anna, quietly but firmly, as if she were making up her mind. Elsa suspected the girl was talking to herself, until she turned to look at her with a creased brow. "Right?"

Elsa searched her sister's face, and when she couldn't find it in her to reply, they both understood that the question was currently in possession of no answer.

Gaining courage from Elsa's silent accord, Anna proceeded, "It's like, part of me is so angry... I just want him to rot in jail for the rest of his life, and yet at the same time…"

Elsa's breathing turned shallow and she crossed her arms tightly in front of her, half hoping Anna wouldn't finish her sentence.

"…seeing him like that… it's just not right."

"He did ask for it," said Elsa, keeping her gaze strictly on the ground, speeding her speech up a notch. When she spoke, the words felt heavy and twisted on her tongue.

"Oh, I know," said Anna. She picked up her pace and, wringing her fingers in one hand, she continued, "I just… well, I guess it's just easier to stay angry at him when I couldn't see him, when I didn't know how they were treating him…"

Elsa stopped abruptly and turned to face her. "Well, Anna, what would you like them to do? Let him roam around the castle, free and careless, like he didn't do anything wrong?"

"I'm not saying—" Anna began.

"He tried to kill you. He used you and then he tried to _kill_ you before trying to kill me."

"I know!" cried Anna defensively. "I'm not saying he should go free… I'm just saying, there's no joy in seeing him suffer; I mean, I thought there would be and there isn't… and that sucks."

Seeing her sister look so crestfallen and ambivalent touched a nerve within Elsa that quickly dissipated her defenses.

Inhaling and exhaling deeply, she finally surrendered. "I know."

They shared a look of empathy before setting off again. A few steps into their walk, Anna hooked her arm into Elsa's.

"So what now?" asked Anna.

Elsa's brow creased, gaze fixed on the ground as her stomach turned.

"There's something I haven't told you," she said.

"What is it?"

"I ran into Prince Gregor last night," explained Elsa. "He thinks it might be the death penalty for—"

She cut herself short, startled at the discovery that his name was unpronounceable to her. Just four letters, but it would cut her tongue; the pain of it would touch every nerve in her body.

Anna gasped. "Really?"

Elsa nodded dismally. "Prince Gregor assures me there is bad blood amongst almost all the brothers, a lot of it aimed towards—_him_."

"But why?" asked Anna, incredulous.

Elsa then proceeded to fill her in on Gregor's account.

"That's terrible!" exclaimed Anna when Elsa finished.

"That's not all," said Elsa. They came to a halt and she turned to face her sister, pressing her lips tightly together, gathering the courage to tell her the rest. "He wants me to ask Prince Jon to spare him. He thinks, somehow, if I give him some form of pardon, Prince Jon will feel more inclined—or more pressure—to be lenient with the sentencing."

Anna nodded and blinked rapidly, taking it all in. "Of course." After a pause, she turned her optimistic, curious eyes towards her. "What did you say?"

Elsa felt forced to look away and she cleared her throat before speaking. "I told him I couldn't."

Anna's face dimmed ever so slightly; it was hardly noticeable with the naked eye. But Elsa saw the light of hope leave her eyes as her mouth opened into a small O.

"He tried to kill us, Anna," said Elsa. "Sometimes, I can't even wrap my head around the idea that… if the circumstances had been different... if he'd gotten away with it…"

Her throat seemed to swell, closing up, barring any more words from exit.

Of course, Anna didn't know Elsa still saw her every night, frozen and cold, a lifeless statue, dead by her hand. She didn't know that she woke up to bed sheets covered with flurries that fell from the ceiling, his voice still ringing in her ears, so perfectly clear that only seconds before waking she could swear he was right there in the room with her.

_"Your sister's dead… because of you."_

"Oh, Elsa," said Anna. "You don't have to explain it to me."

Anna gave her a small smile before hooking her arms into hers again. Slowly, they began their stroll once more.

"I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

"Me too."

The two sisters walked on in silence coming to the edge of the courtyard. They stood high up on a hill at the edge, overlooking the island, watching the turquoise sea that sparkled enticingly beneath the sunlight.

They stood silent for a long while.

Eventually, Anna spoke up, dragging Elsa out from the confines of her own mind.

"But… what if…"

"What?" said Elsa, turning to look at her.

"Well… just hear me out, all right?" Anna said, casting her sister an insecure glance.

Elsa sighed with a worn resignation. "I'm listening."

"Imagine for a moment that it happens. They—well, you know—sentence him to death. Then we go back to Arendelle and everything's perfect and we're all happy and we move on with our lives and completely forget about Hans and about this whole ordeal."

Elsa frowned slightly.

"_But_," Anna continued, "what if that _doesn't_ happen? What if we go back to Arendelle and all we can think about is how this person is dead… because of us?"

Elsa winced.

"Do we really want to have to have that hanging over our heads for the rest of our lives?" asked Anna. "I, personally, want to leave here and never have to think about Hans or the Southern Isles or anything having to do with him again. And I don't know if I can do that knowing I was responsible in some way for his death.

"Even though he's the worst jerk ever, he's still human. He must be, if he means something to Prince Gregor. I don't blame him. I think, if it were us in this situation… if it were you about to be sentenced to death… I would do everything within my power to try and stop them."

Elsa considered her sister's words. She thought of the dreams that already tormented her, night after night, the words she kept hearing in her head; the visions of Anna, lifeless and frozen. What sort of agony would her brain procure for her if she let Hans die when she had all the power to save him? She shuddered at the possibilities.

Maybe Anna was right. If allowing Hans to live didn't alleviate her daily wars, it might at least prevent them from worsening.

She inhaled and exhaled deeply before replying. "All right. I'll see what I can do."

Anna beamed. "Oh, Elsa! You won't regret this. You'll see!"

Elsa looked up at her sister's face, already lit up with anticipation. Sometimes Elsa could swear Anna carried the whole of the world's optimism within her little frame.

She prayed desperately that one day it wouldn't weigh her down.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: **Hey guys! I'm SO SO SO SO sorry that it's taken me so long to update this fic. I SWEAR I haven't given up on it. I do have the whole story finished but there's still so much editing and rewriting to do but life and procrastination just keep getting in the way of me being as productive as I could be. I hope you all haven't given up on me yet. I promise I'm going to keep updating this all the way 'til the end even if it takes me a long time to finish doing so. I have promised myself not to leave any more stories incomplete and I'm going to stick to that!

Also, I want to give a HUGE thanks to my awesome beta fluggerbutter for taking time out to help me make this fic as good as it can be. She works magic, you guys. For real.

Okay, I think that's enough babbling, this has taken me long enough to post. So here it is. I hope you guys like it!

Oh and while I'm here, I just wanna wish you all a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Here's to hoping I'm more productive in the coming year!

Enjoy!

**FOUR**

Orange and yellow flames stretched up toward the low ceilinged hallway from the iron torches lined against the walls. It was cold and damp down in the dungeon. The smell of wet soil clung viciously to the air.

Elsa felt the slight moisture on the stone walls as she leaned onto it with her palm, picking up the skirt of her long dress with her other hand and descending the stairs. She would never notice the frosted handprint she left behind.

Two eerie black shadows wobbled against the opposite wall with every step closer to and away from each torch. One of them belonged to her; the other to Prince Gregor.

Finding him alone hadn't been difficult. All she'd had to do was wait for the hour in which most people entered their first dream and everyone else arose, defeated by the beckoning night. The difficult part had been finding the resolve to do what she was going to do and carry it out.

He had been sitting in the exact spot he'd emerged from the previous night, on the same marble bench between the pine trees—eyes gazing up at the stars, hands loosely clasped on his lap—when Elsa appeared, pulling his attention away from the skies.

Just as his lips parted to verbalize the confusion on his face, Elsa spoke.

"I'll do it. But I'll need a personal and sincere apology from him if I'm going to try and spare his life. I don't think that's too much to ask for."

An agreement was immediately made to meet the following night at the same spot, at which point Gregor would lead Elsa into the dungeons where Hans would be waiting.

Elsa was certain that his apology wouldn't be sincere, but she had felt that she deserved at least something in exchange for the favor. Even if, she supposed, it meant humiliating him first. But the following morning when the sunlight finally pierced the sheer curtains of her window and lit up the back of her eyes, her gut sank. Whether Hans' apology was genuine or not suddenly mattered very little to her. Especially when it occurred to her that she would be having a private meeting that night with the man who almost murdered her and her sister.

During breakfast, Kristoff filled them in on his visit to the local town the previous afternoon, but Elsa's mind had only been half present. He had been in the middle of telling them about the scanty situations on the other side of the island when Elsa lifted her cup to her lips and no liquid slid into her mouth. Frowning, she looked into her cup and found her drink frozen solid inside.

Anna must have seen the distress on her face, because she quickly inquired as to whether or not everything was all right. Elsa forced a smile that she hoped would seem natural and replied that she had only meant to cool her drink a little and had taken it too far. Something in the slight furrow of Anna's brow told her she hadn't quite convinced her.

She had decided against telling Anna about the meeting and the apology. Even if it had been Anna's appeal that had finally convinced her to be merciful, she felt that Anna should be spared the stress of having to encounter Hans face-to-face. She had previously made it distinctly clear that she wanted as much distance from him as possible.

But as she made her way through the dark dungeons, Elsa wished her sister was there, too.

Or rather she wished she'd never had this idea to begin with.

Up ahead, at the end of the torch-lit hallway, Elsa spotted a single cell. The light from the nearby torches reached past the barred door, just enough to discern a small, dark chamber inside. A guard sat on a wooden bench beside the door, turning his attention to Elsa and Gregor as they approached.

"Good evening, Barnabas," said Gregor. "I was wondering if we could have a private word with my brother."

"With all due respect, Your Highness," said Barnabas, standing. He bowed before them before he continued. "Prince Jon is going to get suspicious of you coming here so often."

"Prince Hans is also my brother," said Gregor. "You may search me again if you like. In fact, you may search me every single night. Nothing is going to stop me from coming to see my brother."

"I didn't say I would stop you, Your Highness," said Barnabas. "Prince Jon, however…"

"Well, he needn't know that I come down here so often," said Gregor. "You know I'm just here to give Hans some company."

"No, I know," said Barnabas, keys jingling as he adjusted his pants around his waist. "I've a brother thrown in the big house, too. In for striking at work. 'Suspicious, rebellious behavior,' they called it. Wasn't really fair. Only did it when they asked him to start working double shifts with no increase in pay. You know, since Prince Jon raised taxes... businesses need to make more money to make up the deficit but don't want to spare any extra for the labor. But what do I know? When you need to eat, you need to eat."

An interested, amused look came upon Gregor's face. "Yes, of course. Well, Barnabas. I do appreciate your… understanding. I promise you we won't cause any trouble. Sorry to hear about your brother."

"I'll be around the corner in case of anything," said Barnabas, trailing away down the hall.

As soon as he was out of earshot, Gregor approached the cell. "Hans?"

Elsa lurked in the shadows, almost pressed against the opposite wall, arms crossed in front of her. She peered into the dark cell, her breath quickening.

"Hans?" Gregor repeated.

"You know," a voice answered from the depths of the cell, "Every night you come here, you call my name out as if you think I could possibly be anywhere else." The voice was bitter, familiar, and Elsa felt her skin crawl.

Hans approached the bars, only partially illuminated by torchlight. He glanced past Gregor, where Elsa stood.

"Queen Elsa!" he said. "Goodness me, do excuse my lack of manners."

He bowed with perfect form, but his gesture was tinged with mockery. Surely such niceties meant nothing to a man who had once attempted to drive a sword through her neck. Elsa glowered, her fingers digging into her upper arms.

"Your Majesty, it is an honor to have you visit my humble cell," he said, straightening once more. "I'd invite you in for tea, but I'm afraid I'm all out."

"All right, Hans," said Gregor sternly. "Remember what we spoke about last night."

"Yes, of course," Hans replied, a cynical grin stretching across his face. "The noble Queen of Arendelle has come to grant me her pardon."

At his words, Elsa realized that in all her years of struggling with an inner snowstorm, nothing had ever left her feeling quite as cold.

"Well, let's not waste any time, then," he continued. "Queen Elsa, if you'd be so kind as to approach the cell so that you may be able to see the sincerity in my eyes."

Her blood turned cold. It cut through her, just beneath her skin, rendering her almost completely breathless.

She glanced over at Gregor, who looked back at her dubiously but said nothing. Elsa squared her jaw and took a step forward. She hoped she looked braver than she felt, because this was not the moment to show weakness. She could never let Hans know how far he had infiltrated her nervous system.

She looked up at him directly and suppressed a shudder as she met his eyes.

And in the next instant, the flash of a memory whipped at her.

"_I was wondering if Her Majesty would grant me the great honor of having the next dance?"_

"Would Her Majesty prefer if I kneeled?"

"What?" Elsa asked, startled.

"I said—"

"No, I heard what you said," said Elsa. She cleared her throat. "That won't be necessa—"

But Hans had already dropped down to one knee.

"Queen Elsa," Hans declared. "I, Prince Hans of the Southern Isles, would hereby like to present to you my sincerest apology."

He had his eyes closed, his right hand placed at his heart. The dramatics, the flourishes—all were a sign of how little he actually cared about redeeming himself. Elsa simply wished him to be over with it so she could leave, do her part, and never have to think of him again.

"You have no idea how very sorry I am…" he opened his eyes "…that you're still alive."

Elsa's eyes widened, unsure that she had heard right, but Gregor's reprimand quickly removed all doubt.

"Hans!"

Hans pushed himself up into an upright position again and stared her down. "You wanted a sincere apology? Well, there it is. It doesn't get any more sincere than that. I'm sorry that I failed in beheading you. I'm sorry that Arendelle is still under your rule. And above all, I'm sorry that your stupid sister got in my way and that the she isn't buried six feet under the snow with you by her side."

Elsa stared at him, bewildered. The need to run was so overpowering that she was surprised she wasn't already halfway up the stairs. The only thing keeping her rooted to the spot was a bubbling heat, slowly creeping its way up to her head.

"You sicken me," said Elsa, her tone far more composed than she felt.

Hans chuckled. "Is that the best you've got? I tell you I wish you and your sister were dead and you tell me I _sicken_ you?"

"Hans, you're ruining everything!" Gregor cried.

"You know, what?" said Elsa, shaking through her contained admixture of nerves and rage. She leaned in, letting fear drive her, and grasped the bars of his cell door to look him dead in the eyes. "I hope you do get to live. I hope you get to live a long life, so that you can rot away in this cell _slowly_. Alone."

She made to walk away but his hand was around her wrist before she could move.

Elsa gasped, the previous rage she felt quickly dissipating, a cold rush coming over her as she beheld the white knuckles that wrapped around her wrist.

"Hans!" Gregor shouted, stepping in. "Let her go!"

"You could do it, you know," said Hans, speaking down to her, his voice menacing, his words slithering out like snakes. He pressed her palm to his chest. "You could end it right now. Take your revenge, Queen Elsa. You don't even need to blink."

"Let me go," she said. She had meant to sound firm, but her voice came out in a whisper. She struggled against his grasp, her eyes fixed to the hand on his chest.

"Look at you," he said. "So much power in a single fingertip and you're shaking like a leaf. Prove yourself! Freeze my heart the way you once did your sister's!"

Gregor was in a panic. "Enough, Hans!"

Elsa closed her eyes. "Please," she said weakly. The cold was coming, rushing through her veins, building up inside her. Her heart was pounding and with every quick breath the rush seemed less and less repressible.

A light flickered out of the corner of her eye and darkness engulfed them. Elsa twisted her neck to look: the torch on the wall had gone out. Snow fell in flurries about the hall now; a sheet of ice extended from beneath her feet across the floor. The only remaining light came from the one burning torch several feet away.

"Queen Elsa—please—try to calm down," Gregor pleaded.

"What on earth is going on here?" Barnabas had rejoined them, alerted by the commotion.

"It's all right, Barnabas," said Gregor softly. "Just don't make any sudden moves."

Elsa squeezed her eyes shut, blocking out the harsh voices of the three men around her and focusing on her own breath.

_Breathe_, she urged herself_. Just breathe._

A persistent tapping on the palm of her hand caught her attention. In all her agitation, she had assumed it was own heartbeat, rippling throughout her body. But it beat desperately against her palm rather than from within it, and with far more speed than the pounding inside her own chest.

Elsa's eyes flew open. That wasn't her heart. It was _his_.

It occurred to her then that no one's heart beat so irrationally when they were sure of what they were doing. Her own certainly never had.

She looked up and met the piercing eyes between the bars. At first glance, loathing seemed to stitch together every line of Hans' young face. But there was something—perhaps the slight twitch of an eyebrow, the almost undetectable quiver of a muscle near his lips, the dull glow of a dying light behind his eyes—that told her there was more than just hatred behind his face… something almost human, almost vulnerable, but almost perfectly concealed.

Suddenly, she was no longer looking into the gaze of a murderer but at the red, tear-rimmed eyes of a frightened boy, hiding in a shadowed garden.

Elsa's eyes opened wide in surprise, her facial muscles relaxing, her mouth falling slightly agape. Although she remained unaware, the flurries around them ceased their descent, the layer of ice on the floor slowly receding.

This time the fear she saw in Hans was palpable. Whatever he saw in her face caused him to loosen his grip on her wrist and take a step back, withdrawing farther into the darkness.

She was so transfixed by the vision that it took her a moment to realize she was free to slip away from his grasp. When she did, her previously numbed flight instincts kicked in and she shrank back, pulling her arm into her chest. She glanced at the concerned faces of Gregor and Barnabas before finally pushing past them and hurrying out of the dungeons, into the night.

Elsa didn't slow down, and she didn't glance back, even as she heard Gregor calling out for her. Once she was far enough from the dungeons, she buried herself into the bristly branches of a pine tree and waited.

Not long after, she heard Gregor's voice echoing into the night skies, looking for her. Elsa held her breath until she heard his footsteps fade away.

What she wanted more than anything at that moment was to run back to her bedroom and remain there, possibly for the rest of her stay in the Southern Isles. Yet she found that her feet were moving without premeditation to the garden where she had met Gregor the first night.

At first, a slight hesitation marked her steps. A fist clutched to her chest urged her to turn back. But soon her pace quickened, both her arms lifting her skirts off the ground to free her movements. The memory of Hans' eyes went with her, flashing in her mind over and over again like the relentless repeat of a chamber song.

She ran all the way down the pebbled path, like she had meant to her first night there, and stood before the tall iron fence that cut off the castle grounds from the lake and the woods beyond. Off to the side, the hovering branches of a yew tree blocked out the moonlight. But it was the rose bushes lining the fence that interested Elsa most.

She kneeled, and with an outstretched arm pushed the branches of the bushes aside. Anyone else in her place would have seen only the ends of the iron fence piercing the ground and the stretch of grass that eventually led to the edge of the lake.

What Elsa saw, however, was a piece of forgotten childhood.

Her memory hadn't been a dream or some trick of her imagination after all. She had been here before. When or why or how was far too much for her mind to recollect; there were too many years between the memory that was now resurfacing and the present moment to see it all with fresh eyes. But she was certain that she had knelt here once before in this same spot, had pushed the same rose bush aside when her arm had been only half the length of what it was now, and had found on the other side an auburn-haired boy, not much older than her, crying into his knees.

He had looked up, startled—frightened even—at having been found out. Those green eyes past the bars were unmistakable. She saw that his fear had been instantly cut short and replaced with curiosity at the gleaming rose in her hand. It differed from those on the bushes: this one was made of ice.

His old fear had transferred to her and she had run, tossing the ice rose aside in the hopes that it would be lost.

Elsa sat back, legs folded beneath her, pressing her fingers to her eyes and hoping she might be able to find something more in the darkness behind them.

A pair of solid roses made of gold. Mounds of white snow and a vertical strip of white light in an absolute darkness. But none of that made sense. Nothing really did, anymore. The memory had run its length and Elsa could do no more than sigh and stare up at the stars that blinked down upon her between the branches of the tree.

There was a disquiet inside her that would not subside, triggered by something in Hans' eyes, in the memory of him as a child. It was similar to what she had felt after leaving the hearing with Anna, but this feeling was stronger, a restlessness that possessed and created a war within her. Try as she might to suppress it, ignore it, she understood its cause: it was the clash of her brain and heart, as one tried to explain and the other stubbornly refused to understand.

Perhaps it was a self-defense mechanism. Automatic or self-imposed, she felt it was for the best to cut her senses and her instincts off, never let them wander too far. Who knew what lied behind those closed doors of her heart, what would happen if she opened them and finally tried to understand?

"_I was wondering if Her Majesty would grant me the great honor of having the next dance?"_

He had bowed in the same perfect form as he had only moments ago in his cell. Naturally, that night he had been better kept—clean shaven in his crisp white naval suit. To a young woman who had only ever known the male presence of her father, his direct approach had been staggering and mortifying in a strangely exhilarating way.

"_Thank you, but I don't dance."_

She had turned her gaze back upon the crowd as genteelly as she could, hoping not to seem rude, feigning interest in the festivity before her. His gaze lingering on the side of her face seemed to burn.

"_Surely Her Majesty is simply being modest. I daresay it would be a great tragedy if she didn't dance at her own coronation."_

She caught his smile from the corner of her eye and her heart gave an awkward thump.

"_I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you not to insist,"_ she had said, turning her eyes back upon him, her voice acquiring that tone of finality she had perfected over the years. _"I don't dance. Not now. Not later. Not ever."_

Her acid tone had been borne not of annoyance, but of fear. Fear that if pushed far enough she might actually say _yes_ to those sparkling eyes, that charming smile. Of course it wouldn't seem that way to him. It never did to anyone.

If she had wounded his pride, he hardly showed it. After a short pause, he added with a slight bow of his head, _"I'm sorry if I've offended you, Your Majesty. Please enjoy the rest of your evening."_

He had turned and walked away, leaving Elsa rattled for some time after by the undesired, plaguing visions of a universe in which she could have accepted his offer. The visions were quickly put to rest when she spotted him later that night, swaying along with the crowd, her sister in his arms.

There was no point in reliving that memory now, except perhaps to bring herself shame. And yet it played on inside her mind, without permission, without restraint—her brain's own method of chastising her. _Watch yourself be wooed by this monster in disguise. Feel your soul stir then immediately crash as you remember there was never any honesty in his eyes._

But that was a lie. She _had_ seen honesty in his eyes. She had seen it in the tears that spilled down that boy's face so many years ago. She had seen it again in the fear in his eyes behind those metal bars tonight.

Most of all she had felt it, in the frantic beating of his pleading heart.

And no one better than Elsa knew: a face could conceal a million truths, but hearts never lied.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N:** Hey guys! I'm so, so, so, so, so, so, so, so sorry that this took me so long to post. I don't think there are enough "SO"s in the world to truly express how terrible I feel. But it's finally here and that's what matters, right? Right? I can't promise that I'll post faster because I do have a full time job and I write on my free time (which is also usually cluttered with other life things). I'm also a terrible perfectionist and I refuse to post something that I feel isn't worth posting. If I wouldn't like to read it, then I'm definitely not going to post it until I feel like I would. However, I CAN promise to finish this fic, which I already did and I'm sticking to that promise. There are, as of this moment, about seven or eight more chapters left. So, it's not even that long. Bear with me please. v.v

I've also started working on a companion piece to go with this fic from Hans' point of view, which is not good in a way...I really shouldn't be starting new projects until I'm finished with what I'm working on at the moment. But ideas just kept coming to me and I just had to pull out my little notebook and write them down. Would you guys be interested in reading that? If I do post it, it probably won't be until I'm finished with this one, though, since I intend to give this my full attention first. But then I'd probably still kind of work on it on the side, rather than just allowing the ideas to drift by.

Also, if you guys are interested you can follow me on my tumblr on which I very seldom post (but there's lots of Helsa goodness on there) - same handle as on here. OR you can follow me on twitter where i post WAY too much. My handle there is copprboom. I often rant about writing on there, so you'll be able to see how my progress with this fic is going...and other useless information v.v

Before I go - a big HUMONGOUS thank you to the ever fabulous **fluggerbutter** for polishing up this fic and making it as shiny as it can be!

Okay, I think that's it for now. I hope you guys enjoy this! :)

**FIVE**

The porcelain teacup teetered against its matching saucer, causing a gentle rattling that mimicked the sound of nervous laughter. Its gentle vibrations reverberated through Elsa's fingers all the way up her arm. Or maybe it had been the other way around and the vibrations had reverberated from her arm down into the teacup.

Elsa brought the cup and saucer down onto her lap and looked up. It was difficult to believe that Prince Jon was still no more than just a prince when sitting across from him, and that as queen she ranked higher; he made the large desk between them seem so small. Inside his office, Elsa felt like a child waiting to be reprimanded by her tutor. She straightened her back and reminded herself that she had done nothing wrong.

"How's your tea, Queen Elsa?" asked Prince Jon, as the maid handed him his own cup.

"Perfect. Thank you."

"Good, good," said Prince Jon. "That will be all, Olga, thank you."

Olga, silver tray in hand, bowed before turning and exiting the room through a side door.

Elsa curled her fingers around the little handle of her teacup. The delicate porcelain pressed into her palm until the ticking of her own pulse beat with faint prominence against their tips.

Startled, she loosened her grip. She glanced at Prince Jon, her heart pounding against her chest. Had he noticed the slight terror that had just crossed her normally unrevealing expression? Would he be able to tell from a single glance all the secrets she was hiding?

Elsa took a deep breath as discreetly as she could, bringing her gaze back to the surface of Jon's desk, upon which rested a leather-bound book and a stack of letters secured by a string. She was being paranoid. She needed to calm down before she arose unnecessary suspicion. Prince Jon couldn't know what had transpired the night before. Well—he could. Anyone could have seen her coming in and out of the dungeons. Barnabas could have ratted her and Gregor out. They hadn't been very careful—any number of things could've happened to reveal their mischief.

But even if Prince Jon knew, she had done nothing wrong. Hans' situation remained unaltered, in spite of the meeting she now wholeheartedly regretted. She remained completely innocent. There was no reason to feel guilty, ashamed.

She brought her cup to her lips again and found that the tea had gone cold.

"My dear Queen Elsa, I do hope your stay here has been pleasant so far," said Prince Jon. "In spite of the circumstances of your visit."

Elsa looked up and met his gaze before giving a small polite smile. "It's been good. Everyone has been very kind with Anna, Kristoff and myself. They have all ensured that we feel as little of the weight of this unpleasant situation as possible. We can't thank you enough."

"Good, good, I'm glad," said Prince Jon. "I do admit I was a bit worried."

"I assure you your worry's been in vain," said Elsa. "It's no leisurely vacation, but Anna and I really can't complain."

"Yes," agreed Prince Jon, though the creasing of his brow said otherwise. "That's not all I've been worried about, though. I've also been concerned about my brothers inconveniencing you."

"Inconveniencing me?" asked Elsa. The teacup clinked against the saucer again.

"Yes, well—only one in particular, really."

Elsa dug her thumbnail unto the teacup's handle. Her teeth were clenched; she had to fight not to twitch. She felt that her silence seemed incriminating, but at the same time she was certain that all doubt would be removed if she were to speak.

"Oh?" was all she managed to say.

"You see, my brother Gregor has been caught up with the idea that he must save Hans from his imminent punishment. I was afraid he would ask you to intervene."

There was a pause that seemed to stretch right across the span of minutes. Prince Jon looked at Elsa, a curious expression on his face.

Elsa swallowed. "And that would be a bad thing?"

Prince Jon laughed, that jolly, warm laugh that should have allowed Elsa to relax and feel her muscles melt into its friendliness.

All it did was set her more on her guard.

"Goodness, no!" Prince Jon cried through his chortle. The mood turned lighter on his side of the desk, the tension lifted. Or at least that was what she imagined Prince Jon intended. Still, though Elsa could see it, she couldn't feel it.

"Certainly pleading for someone's life or bestowing a pardon isn't reason to chastise anyone," continued Prince Jon. "I wouldn't blame Gregor for foolishly trying yet again to pull Hans out of his predicament. I almost fear he'll feel purposeless with Hans properly put away where he can no longer do any harm. And I certainly wouldn't be offended if you went soft and chose to help him—it is in your feminine nature to do so…"

Elsa's molars grinded slowly against each other at this comment.

"But in all honesty, it would be futile. The final decision does lie with the courts."

"And you've appointed yourself High Judge," Elsa interjected.

"Yes, as Prince Regent, it was only natural that I do so—of course, the decision of Hans' ultimate punishment won't rest solely in my hands. Naturally, the Royal Council and I will consult."

"A Royal Council made up of your other eleven brothers."

"Well—yes."

"And I suppose they won't let any brotherly affection get in their way of their judgment?"

"Queen Elsa, I assure you, whatever decision we come to will be in the best interest of our kingdom. Both of our kingdoms."

"But you do have the power to change it—the final verdict, I mean."

"Indeed, that I do."

Prince Jon eyed Elsa again, this time his gaze more focused, amused, as if somewhere behind his pupils he were sifting through her personality, deftly studying her.

"Ultimately, Queen Elsa, the kingdom of Arendelle and the Southern Isles have always kept impeccable relations—it's been that way for centuries. It would be a shame to lose such a close ally over such a petty movement as an intervention over a matter of local interest—"

"I think it stopped being of local interest when Prince Hans walked into my kingdom and attempted to steal my throne."

"—and of a unanimously popular final verdict."

A cold chill travelled down Elsa's chest, spreading out throughout her limbs. It seemed to take forever to feel her own breath again. "So what you're saying is that you're leaning towards…"

"Death, yes." Prince Gregor spoke plainly, without any sort of hesitation in his words, as if he were simply confirming the color of the sky.

Her heart beat steady but hard. Her hands sat balled into fists on her lap, her pulse tapping prominently against her palm. Her pulse. _Her_ pulse.

"I see," said Elsa. Her mouth had suddenly gone dry.

"Here in the Southern Isles, treason is the highest form of offense. Punishment is always death—by decapitation, to be specific. It's been that way for years and we don't plan to change it now. Nor do we plan to start making exceptions to the rule. Peasant or royal—the law is what it is and we respect that. I don't see why you should have any objection to this verdict, seeing as how Hans was quite ready to off you and your sister in the bat of an eye."

Elsa smiled meekly. She didn't care if it seemed unfriendly. "Oh, well, you know, I'm a woman. I'm sometimes thrown off by my silly feelings."

Prince Jon laughed. "Oh, Queen Elsa, your sense of humor is almost as intact as your sister's."

Elsa gave him a hard smile again.

"Seriously speaking, though," Prince Jon went on, "you do see my point when I say it would be a waste to hurt the relations between our kingdoms over something like this. To pardon him would simply rile the people up and cause more intrigue. Better to have them all see that we're all on the same side. That way, we maintain the peace and we can all go on with our lives as before, with the slight relief that there is one threat less to worry about."

Elsa didn't respond but shifted her gaze down to her teacup, where her drink sat frozen solid.

"Very well, now that that's cleared up, there's another matter of business I wanted to run by you," said Prince Jon, as he pulled the large, leather-bound book towards him. "Do tell, Queen Elsa, what do you know about the origin of your powers?"

Elsa's head snapped up. "The—my—the origin of my powers?"

Prince Jon nodded as he reached across the desk. He took the bundle of letters and placed them to the side before picking up the leather-bound book and bringing it in front of him. He flipped open the large volume, skipping ahead several pages at a time. "Yes. I was wondering how much you knew about them?"

She was obliviously sliding to the edge of her chair, her eyes glued to the book Prince Jon was looking through. "N-nothing. I've—I was born with them. Or so I've always thought. I've had them for as long as I can remember. Why—do you know something?"

Prince Jon's brow furrowed without taking his eyes off the book. "I have been looking into your ancestry and I do admit it's quite interesting…"

"What does it say?" asked Elsa, the teacup and saucer nearly sliding out of her hands.

"Hmm," said Prince Jon. Then after a pause, he slammed the book shut. Elsa jerked back in her chair.

"I'm afraid I'm not quite finished researching it," Prince Jon began, as he casually pushed his chair back and stood. "It can be a bit confusing."

Elsa blinked. She stared at Prince Jon, wide-eyed, a child whose promised lollipop had just been snatched away.

"I think perhaps I'll be able to piece it all together soon. What do you say on the evening before your departure back to Arendelle we hold a small going away feast for you and your sister and we finish discussing it then?"

She tried to reply. Somewhere inside her chest, an earsplitting screech lay buried, desperately trying to claw its way out. But she sat stone cold, staring at Prince Jon, unable even to blink.

"I—" she choked. She wanted to impose, make demands, threats, jump to her feet and allow her rage to burst forth. She could. She knew that she could. But she also knew that the wrong reaction could just as easily keep the truth away from her forever. It would only make matters worse. So she sat, once more frozen in place by a clash of wills.

"It's settled then," said Prince Jon. He picked up the large volume in one hand, the bundle of letters in the other and made his way to the side of the room, where he removed a painting of his father King Julius from the wall. An iron safe rested behind it. He deposited the book and the letters within, closed its door and locked it before turning to Elsa, smiling.

"Of course, it won't be too grand a feast," he added. "My family and I could very well be in mourning at that time. But a small feast just to say goodbye and thank you, nonetheless. Sound good?"

Elsa watched him incredulously. Even if she could speak, she would not have been able to choose the precise words to say to him.

"Good. Very well, then, Queen Elsa. I'm so glad we could have this chat. Do be so kind as to close the door on your way out? I've quite a hefty load of work to do."

Just like that, he returned to his seat behind his desk and went on with his paperwork as if Elsa were transparent.

She blinked. What else was she to do? The cards had been dealt in a game Elsa hadn't known she'd been playing—and she had just lost.

Prince Jon looked up at Elsa, who remained seated, staring at him. He spoke, feigning confusion. "Queen Elsa?"

Elsa set her jaw and finally turned her eyes away. She stood from her seat and dropped her cup of frozen tea on the table so that it clattered loudly on the hardwood; she then turned on her heel and headed out of the room, her every step unforgiving.

"Please don't forget to close the—" was the last thing Elsa heard him say before she slammed the door shut behind her.

* * *

Elsa stepped out hardly knowing where she was or where she was headed. She simply walked, her strides thundering echoes in the empty halls. A light thrumming on her palm interrupted every step she took.

Elsa flexed the fingers in her right hand and then rolled them back into a fist. Closed tightly, her own pulse beat more prominently against her skin. Her own pulse, she reminded herself. _Her own_. She let her fingers rest again, let them hang loosely against her side. But the ticking persisted just as resiliently as before and she brought her hand to her midriff, where she massaged her palm with the thumb of her other hand.

"Pst!"

Elsa glanced over her shoulder at the empty hall behind her.

"Elsa!"

Elsa frowned as she turned and peered into the darkened corners of the hallway.

"Who's there?"

A head with two dangling strawberry blonde braids leaned out from behind a pillar.

"Elsa!"

"Anna?"

Anna brought a finger to her lips as she slipped out from behind the pillar and tiptoed towards Elsa.

"What are you doing here?" asked Elsa.

"I was waiting for you."

"Did Prince Jon ask to see you as well?"

"Oh no! Nothing like that," said Anna, with a casual wave of her hand. "I overheard him say he didn't want to be disturbed this morning because he would be having a private meeting with you, so I thought I'd wait here until you came out. How'd it go? What'd he say? What did you two talk about?"

In the time it took Elsa to open her mouth to reply, she considered telling Anna the truth about her conversation with Prince Jon. Then she closed it again and lifted her gaze to Anna's face, which was once again bright with anticipation. It was better not to mention Prince Jon's bribe. If she knew anything about Anna, it was that she was impulsive, especially when there was an injustice to make right. Elsa shuddered to think what sort of trouble Anna would get herself into with Prince Jon if she were to find out how he was manipulating her.

"He just wanted to ensure that we were comfortable here," said Elsa. There—that wasn't a complete lie.

"Oh," said Anna, her bright expression dimming slightly. "Is that it?"

Elsa nodded even as she cast her eyes down. There was the lie.

Anna exhaled loudly. "I guess that's not so bad. Anyway, I was waiting for you because I spoke to Prince Gregor."

"What?" asked Elsa, her gut sinking.

"Yeah, I ran into him earlier. Well, not so much _ran into him_ as I'm pretty sure he was stalking me. He said he's been wanting to speak to you but you've been avoiding him."

"He shouldn't have come to you," said Elsa sternly.

"Yes, well, he did—so—not much we can do about that now. Although, he seemed really nice. Worried. Sad. But nice overall, I guess? Anyway, he didn't discuss anything with me, even though I asked him if the thing he wanted to talk to you was the appeal for Prince Hans' life, but he was very tightlipped about all that and said he preferred not to discuss with me without discussing with you first. But he did ask me to hand this to you."

Anna picked up her skirt so that it was lifted over her knees and the rim of her pantaloons showed.

"Anna!" cried Elsa in an urgent whisper.

"What? It's not like anyone's around," Anna said, as she slipped two fingers into the inside of her boot. "Here."

She pulled out a small piece of folded paper and handed it over to her. "Be proud of me; I didn't even read it."

Elsa pursed her lips and took the letter from her. "What else do you have in there—a blade?"

"No," said Anna. "That's in my other boot."

On cue, Anna leaned over, hiked her skirt up once more and retrieved a silver dagger from her other boot.

"Good heavens, Anna! I was joking!"

"Elsa," said Anna gravely. "We're in the Southern Isles, staying at the home of the closest relatives of the man that tried to kill us. It's only wise to take precautions."

Then she added defensively, "And besides, Kristoff approves."

"I don't understand you Anna," said Elsa, as she unfolded the letter. "You're keen to convince me we should do something to spare this man his life but at the same time you carry a blade around with you in case any of his relatives carry the same murderous incentives as him?"

"I don't want him _dead_. It's not like I would kill him or any of them if I had the chance," said Anna. "I would just… you know… cut them a little."

Elsa shook her head reprovingly before she quietly read Gregor's letter.

_Queen Elsa,_

_Please let me begin this note by reiterating how very sorry I am about the events of last night. Believe me, had I known Hans would behave in such a manner I never would have asked you to come with me to the dungeons._

_I know you'll find this hard to believe, but my brother isn't the heartless man you encountered last night. Like anyone else, he is simply a flawed man who, more often than he should, allows his pride to carry him away. But there is good in him. I've seen it. I know it. Of course, I also know that I can repeat this a million times and there's a good chance you'll never believe me. I can give you my word over and over, but it would be no good as long as Hans' actions keep disproving it. _

_As such, I have come to the decision that it is time I disclose some information that will perhaps allow you some insight. _

_ There are certain facts I omitted from my story the other night as they are of a discreet nature. I see now that it is imperative that I share them if I am to properly convince you of Hans' good characteristics. However, this information is far too delicate to be shared by means of a letter such as this one._

_ Please meet me in the main library tomorrow anytime before noon. I will be there waiting to speak to you. I hope that what I have to say gives you a better understanding of Hans' character, and that you will still be onboard in giving us your aid in this difficult matter._

_ Sincerely,_

_ Prince Gregor_

"Well?" asked Anna. "What does he say?"

Elsa clenched her teeth, her brows slowly drifting to meet in the center of her forehead.

"Elsa?"

Elsa pressed her lips together and walked away, crushing the letter in her closing fist.

"Elsa? Elsa, where are you going? Elsa, wait!"

She stormed down hallways and stairs, the sound of her quick, steady steps mingling in the corridors with Anna's urgent, rushed ones.

She arrived at the library and pushed the doors open. At this point she was beyond knocking—and manners, for that matter.

On the opposite side of the room, by the bookshelves, stood Prince Gregor. He looked up abruptly from a book he held in his hands.

"Queen Elsa," he began, closing the book. "So glad you could—"

"I'm sorry, Prince Gregor," said Elsa, cutting him off, her tone harsh. "But I'm not here to have any sort of discussion with you. I'm not here to hear any more of your pleas or your reasons or excuses. I've come here only to ask you to leave my sister and me alone."

"Elsa—" Anna whispered from behind her, a slight shock in her voice.

"We have had enough of you, of Prince Hans, of the dubiousness of all of your brothers,-and we ask you to please just leave us out of it. We're here for the trial and nothing more."

Prince Gregor watched her in silence a moment before managing, "If this is about last night—"

"Last night?" asked Anna. "What happened last night?"

Elsa ignored her. "This isn't just about last night. This is about every single day since we arrived. It's about every day since we had the misfortune of becoming acquainted with Prince Hans. We've had enough. Myself in particular. So, please, do not bother us again."

"Queen Elsa, if you would allow me to explain—"

"No!" said Elsa, her composure faltering. "No more explanations. Last night was a mistake. I wanted to help you but I see now that your brother is a lost cause—"

"What happened last night?" Anna repeated.

"He's not a lost cause. If you would just—"

"—we want nothing more to do with you or your family. We didn't ask for any of this, only that it be over as quickly as possible—"

"—if you would just listen—"

"Elsa, what on earth is going on?"

"—but every day it seems to spiral more and more out of control and just—please, I ask of you—no—I _demand_ that you stay away from my sister and me for the remainder of our stay here!"

The silence descended swiftly and with incredible tension. Elsa's chest rose and fell agitatedly as she tried to remain firm; she ended up merely avoiding Gregor's gaze. Anna stood beside her, the plethora of queries crossing her mind etched visibly onto her confused face. She opened and closed her fists repeatedly, as if fighting the itch to continue asking questions. At last, Gregor closed his mouth, stepping back. Though his expression remained stern, the fight seemed to have gone out of it.

"I'm terribly sorry, Prince Gregor," said Elsa, her eyes cast down, realizing now she had squeezed the letter into a ruffled bow. "There's nothing more I can do to help you."

She cast one last quick glance at him before turning around to leave. Before she could take another step, his voice stopped her.

"Queen Elsa," he began again. "The reason Hans tried to steal your throne was not simply for his own self-satisfying greed and power. He wanted your army to fight Jon."

It was as if she had collided with an invisible force; unyieldingly, it blocked her way. She had heard him loud and clear, and yet there seemed to be a disconnect between the words and their meaning.

Elsa turned to face him again.

"What?"

"Princess Anna," said Gregor. "If you'd be so kind as to close the door…"

Anna seemed to come out of shock. "Oh, yes, of course! I'll—I'll stand outside and make sure no one comes in."

Anna left to do just that, but not before flashing Elsa a look that seemed to scream inwardly with mind-blown hysteria.

Once Anna was standing guard outside, Elsa turned to Gregor again.

"Please explain."

Gregor closed his eyes before attempting his story again. "It's the truth. A couple of weeks before your coronation, chaos had erupted here. The captured rebels had been freed and all evidence pointed towards Hans. Jon pushed for his immediate arrest, but he ran. He hid for days in the woods until he acquired a crew and a boat and set off for Arendelle. Hans did travel there with the purpose of acquiring the throne—but not simply for the sake of being king.

"As you already know, my father is dying. He's on his last thread. Any day now, he'll pass on and Jon will be declared king of the Southern Isles—and then there will be nothing and no one that can stop him. He's brought so much damage to our kingdom already. The people are unhappy, but they cannot revolt without being brutalized. Their families are suffering. Jon has bought his way into our army, into the security of this country. No one can stand up against him. Even our own brothers have settled for the titles, the gold, any material things he can give them. The only way to stop him is to fight him, to declare waragainst him… and for that, an army is needed."

Elsa listened silently, processing this information. But as much as she wanted to remain open-minded, her skeptical and guarded nature got in her way. The objections formed of their own accord.

"If Prince Hans had wanted an army, he could've asked," she said. "He could have presented the situation to us, made his case and we gladly—"

"Gladly?" cried Prince Jon. "Your gates had been closed for thirteen years. What was anyone supposed to think of asking you for help? Would you honestly have given it?"

Elsa swallowed hard, unable to answer.

"Hans didn't want to risk it. If you denied him the help he asked for, then how, _where_, would he have gone for it? He thought it simpler to marry you. To inherit your army through a royal wedding. I had no idea of his intentions when he left. But I knew once we got word of what he'd done. I knew before the ship bringing him back even docked. And Jon's no fool either—he suspects. Why else do you suppose he's so eager to have him executed?"

Elsa twisted the letter in her hands absentmindedly, causing her pulse to once again start tapping against the palm of her hand.

"He believes Hans is the leader of a revolt. And Hans—the truth is, he just made a mess out of everything. He played right into Jon's cards and gave him the perfect excuse to get rid of him."

He paused to gauge Elsa's reaction.

"He was desperate, Queen Elsa. I hate to say that I understand him or what he did—it was madness—but at times, I feel his desperation as if it were my own. When you rejected him, he found himself pinned against a wall and went for your sister instead. By then, he wasn't thinking straight. He was consumed by the idea that acquiring the kingdom of Arendelle was his last resort. If that fell through, he would be left with no other options."

Elsa's voice was cold when she spoke next. "So then he planned to marry my sister and kill me."

"I'm not saying what he did was right. I'm not asking you to forgive him; I'm asking you to understand his desperation—"

"You are asking me to understand the incentives of the man who left my sister for dead and tried to behead me."

Gregor closed his eyes. "No, that's not—"

"Yes, it is," she said. "You're asking me to turn a blind eye to his crimes. To ignore the bad and see only the good."

"No, I'm asking you _not_ to ignore the good, which is what you seem so bent on doing. Put yourself in his shoes, Queen Elsa. What would you have done to protect your kingdom?"

"That's beside the point," said Elsa.

"It is precisely the point," said Gregor. "People do senseless things when they're desperate, when they feel they've run out of options. They stop thinking clearly. But it doesn't define who they are for the rest of their lives. Or at least, it shouldn't. That's something you can understand, can't you?"

Elsa could suddenly see Hans' eyes through the bars of his cell; the image was seared there, permanently written into the folds of her memory. She recalled the precise moment in which she had seen, if only for a second, something like a shadow fleeting across them, unveiling what was hidden behind. For that split second she had seen that frightened boy, hiding in the garden, tears streaming down his face.

But that boy could never have grown up into the man locked in the dungeons today. There was no possible connection. The man in the dungeons had deliberately lied, deceived, and purposely hurt everyone and everything she held dear for his own personal benefit.

_"Your sister is dead… because of you."_

When Hans had said that, Anna had still been alive.

There had been no trace of desperation in that line. Just heartlessness.

The pulse in her palm accelerated and Elsa clenched her fist to stop from feeling it.

She looked directly into Prince Gregor's eyes.

"I'm sorry Prince Gregor," she said. "It's just not enough."

She didn't wait to see his reaction. She simply turned and left the room. She may have been dubbed the Snow Queen, but it was from Hans and his twelve brothers that Elsa had learned how to turn her own heart into ice.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: **A million apologies once more for this having taken so long! Thank you to everyone still following this fic, for your wonderful reviews, follows, time and patience! I hope this chapter's good enough to make up for the long LONG wait. A special thanks to my beta **flubbergutter** for helping to sharpen this fic up! Okay, I won't keep you all any longer with random babbling. Enjoy!

**SIX**

Elsa found herself submerged in darkness. There was no hint of light here, wherever she was. The place lacked even the faintest glow to make out the shapes of objects around her. She tried vainly to recall how she'd gotten here, but her mind was coming up blank, and a small pang of panic fluttered across her chest.

Upon attempting to rise from the hard surface on which she lay, Elsa discovered her head felt oddly heavy—heavier than her entire body, which on its own seemed to weigh tons. She struggled once more against the marble weight of her bones, pushing to achieve at least the twitch of a muscle, and this time her eyelids flickered and she realized she was asleep: trapped in one of those dense slumbers from which it was difficult to wake.

A murmur of low voices reached her ears from somewhere nearby. She strained through the thick fog of sleep to concentrate on what they were saying but only managed to catch sporadic words and phrases, fragments which on their own didn't make much sense at all.

"_Here are the things you asked for, Your Highness."_

"_Thank you, Lars. That will be all."_

There was something desperately familiar about the second voice. Try as she might, Elsa couldn't place it. She seemed to chase it around her mind, coming ever closer to its source, but the answer always dissipated like smoke into thin air the moment her fingers grazed it. No, her current half-conscious state would not allow her to connect with reason. Instead, rapidly flickering and inconsistent visions disrupted her feeble attempts at concentrating: A shower of crystals. An endless white landscape. A horse's mane. A firm surface, warm and gray, on which she rested her head.

"_This is madness and you know it!"_

"_With all due respect, Duke, Princess Anna left me in charge and I stand by my decision."_

_"But she's a danger to us all; it's a risk to keep her here!"_

_ "Maybe. But she's still the Queen and our only possibility of ending this winter."_

The voices faded. Or perhaps it was her mind that drifted again: she couldn't tell. She was somehow trapped inside her own body with only fleeting moments of dark, intangible consciousness and a growing desperation to understand what was happening around her.

The sound of a closing door brought her back again. A slight gust of wind blew across her body, and she felt the feather tickle of a loose strand of hair as it fell on her nose.

The dim tapping of footsteps resounded on the floor, growing gradually louder. After a silent pause, a serene warmth spread slowly over her body from her feet up to her shoulders. Then five long fingers slid beneath her heavy head and lifted it, the flatness of the palm pressing firmly onto her cheek. Her brow creased and her eyelids flickered again, allowing a dull gray blink of light in, but soon she was in darkness again.

When the hand released her, her head fell gently unto a soft cushion, fingers gently slipping away from underneath her in an inadvertent caress. A different sort of warmth filled her this time—an inner warmth—the kind a person could achieve if they were stranded naked in the dead of winter. Her muscles relaxed with the certainty that she was safe. Whoever it was that was taking care of her would not allow any harm to come to her. She sensed this—no—she _knew_ this, although _how_ she'd never be able to say. But she felt she could almost drift away completely now, not a care in the world.

Still the nearby presence remained, their warm shadow like a blanket over her. Perhaps curiosity kept her there, or simply anxious habit, pinned her down while she fought against her unshakeable drowsiness. She wanted to know who it was that was showing her such kindness, to look into the face of this gracious soul looking out for her when she was so visibly vulnerable.

The familiar voice spoke softly, yet clearly, to her. Warm breath fell lightly upon her exposed cheek.

_"Forgive me," _she heard. _"It was never meant to be this complicated."_

The warmth that had only seconds ago filled her faded, pushed aside by the chill of fear. She had recognized the voice at last.

Her breath quickened and in the foggy depths of her mind Elsa could hear herself screaming, _"Open your eyes! Open your eyes!" _Her very soul pushed against the confines of her body trying to break free.

But it was no use. She remained catatonic in spite of the great, terrible rush of energy that urged her to get up and run.

Something soft glided across her cheek, dragging back the strand of hair away from her face and Elsa froze. Or her mind did. It was already impossible to move physically, but Elsa's own consciousness quieted down. Like a prey about to be hunted, afraid to breathe, terrified to stir even inside her own mind. It took her a couple of seconds to understand what was happening as the gentle friction of a gloved finger on her skin left a trail of warmth that sprouted a thousand cold chills throughout the rest of her body. That was officially more than she could handle.

With a loud gasp, Elsa jolted up from her mattress.

Her ragged breath blared in the silence. With a hand placed over her pounding heart, she scanned her room for the culprit.

White, velvety moonlight poured in through the balcony doors, illuminating a large portion of her bedroom. Her wide eyes searched the shadows for movement, for a strange shape hiding amidst the darker corners, but only the things that had furnished the room upon her arrival could be seen: the dressing table, the writing desk, the armoire, the small corner table with the flower vase, her own luggage, two armchairs, and the long standing mirror. Nothing stirred except for the second hand of the clock atop the mantelpiece and her own heaving chest.

Elsa brought her hands to her face and pressed her fingertips to closed lids.

Why was this happening to her? Why was her mind suddenly plaguing her with these strange visions, half-memories, half-dreams? Was it not enough that she already tormented herself when awake? Wasn't having to live, however briefly, among the relatives of her almost-murderer not punishment enough?

Anna's voice from earlier that day resurfaced in her mind.

_"Do you think Gregor's telling the truth? I mean…I don't want to sound like I'm defending him…certainly not defending his brother…but I just…I can't help but wonder—what would we have done in their place?"_

_What would we have done_…_?_ She was tired of going over the question and trying to find the answer. She was tired of playing dress up in her mind, trying on the shoes of her enemy, tired of being asked to understand. Why should she have to make that effort? Had anyone stopped to consider how this situation would affect her? Had _he_ even for a moment stopped to think about the damage, the repercussions of his actions before heading off to Arendelle and attempting to murder her and her sister?

"_It was never meant to be this complicated."_

His voice seemed to echo from her mind out into the room and Elsa shivered involuntarily.

She dragged her hands down her face, stopping at her mouth as she gazed around her room in silence.

Her mind was playing tricks on her. The flashbacks, the dreams, whatever it was that she thought she had seen in his eyes that night in the dungeons—none of it was real. Gregor's pleas, her encounter with Hans, and Anna's own doubts were filtering through into her subconscious and confusing her, creating visions that didn't exist, dragging through the mud all her ideas and thoughts and all that she considered factual.

He had no hope of redemption. Even when it had been offered so easily to him the night before, he'd chosen to throw it away with such blatant, careless disregard, his hands wide open. How could anyone ever even fathom that there might be any goodness left in him? _How_—when inside he seemed to be colder, far more frozen over than any winter Elsa could ever manifest?

Hans was a monster. Heartless, cold and calculating. That was what she firmly believed.

So then why did a twinge of guilt prick at her insides whenever she tried to reassure herself of it?

Elsa's fingers moved lightly over her cheek, resting at the place where the warmth of his fingertips still lingered.

* * *

The face of Ignotus the Great was hardly visible through the wild bush of beard that sprouted about it, tangled and overgrown. The locks of hair on his head were tongues of fire, pulled by their heat into the atmosphere, and coarse, thick eyebrows covered most of his forehead. Of his features, only ardent green eyes and a twisted mouth were visible between the darting, snarling flames. Were it not for those eyes, Elsa would almost say that this painting was not based on a real person.

"As far back as our ancestors go, Ignotus is the oldest—about five hundred years old. We haven't been able to trace much further than him. But he was the first conqueror of the Southern Isles, so we could say he's our founding father. Here we have him depicted on the Crescent Rock—the rock said to lie in the very foundations of this castle."

"Interesting," said Elsa, forcing a small polite smile.

"Indeed. Not much can be said for his grooming habits based on this painting alone, but I suppose you can see some of the resemblance," said Prince Klaus. "Now, if you step over this way we have King Barrius…"

Elsa threw one last wary half-glance at those menacing, almost indecent, too-real, green eyes, feeling them burn on her back as she walked away. How she would sleep tonight knowing that horrible painting hung only paces away from her bedroom, she had no idea. As if she didn't already have enough reasons to keep her up at night.

Her stomach twisted as she recalled her strange dream from the night before, the voice that still echoed inside her mind, the vivid feeling of the gloved fingers against her cheek. Worst of all, the unshakeable sensation that it had all been more than just a dream, that she had lived it in the flesh. But that was impossible. It had to be. There was simply no logical explanation.

Right?

Silently, she crossed her arms and followed Prince Klaus, discreetly, compulsively, wiping her cheek with the back of her hand.

The prince led her over to the neighbor of Ignotus the Great, yet another towering painting in a gilded frame.

"Otherwise known as Barry the Brute, King during the 15th century. He's said to have murdered eight of his ten wives. There was never any real proof of how the last two died, but most are certain he was responsible in some way…"

Elsa's eyes widened. She could certainly see the connection to his descendants in this man of raven hair and iron helmet. Quickly she pressed her lips together trying to salvage her reaction with what she hoped was a non-committal expression. It was also a means of keeping herself from blurting out, "Lovely family." Although, she wondered, noting the pride and childish earnestness with which Prince Klaus detailed his ancestors' violent history, whether he would mistake the sarcasm for genuine flattery.

"Oh, Queen Elsa, I think you'll like this one."

Prince Klaus walked ahead and Elsa followed, stopping just before a painting of a strikingly dark-haired woman, standing before a throne with an orb in one hand and a specter in another.

She was slender and wore robes of royal blue, and despite the obvious youth and beauty in her face, there was an admirable sternness in the line of her jaw and the firm gaze of her green eyes. Aside from that, Elsa felt a prickling sense of familiarity, as if she had known this woman all her life.

"Who's this?" she asked, stilled.

"This, my dear queen, is the only female heir to the throne of the Southern Isles in five hundred years of ruling—Queen Margrith. Her mother was only ever able to bear one child; she died soon after. Her father waged a war against our cousins to the north who came plying for the throne, claiming women were not to rule the kingdom and that the throne should be given to the next male in line. He essentially rewrote the law and threatened with beheading anyone who dared to oppose him. I suppose he got his stubbornness from Barry the Brute."

Elsa nodded, all the while thinking that _stubbornness_ was not the word she would have used.

"Queen Margrith the Cold, they called her, for her distant and taciturn manner. She was not much of a people person, always choosing to have her advisors meet with the townspeople and handle her duties. Some even refer to her as the Winter Queen, but I suppose that's also because she only reigned through the length of just one winter season before she abdicated."

"She abdicated?" Elsa started. "Why?"

"Well, story has it that she fell in love with a commoner. The law of the day stated that someone of noble or royal blood could only marry another person of similar lineage—certainly not a commoner. So she gave it all up. There's no trace of her in the books after the fact.

"It's almost as if she disappeared," Klaus went on. "Seems no one thought her important enough to keep track of her once she surrendered the throne. Or perhaps they were glad to have such a peculiar being gone… I suppose there's some irony there, a queen known for her cold disposition giving up the throne for love."

Elsa looked up at the firm, unfathomable face of Queen Margrith, wondering, perhaps from her own experience, what sort of torments she might have been hiding behind that stoic facade. She would never dare say it to Prince Klaus, but she was almost completely certain that there was injustice in their chosen nickname for her. No one knew better than she that sometimes the hardest people were also the most fragile.

"Her story sounds fascinating," said Elsa. She looked up at the painting. "Heartbreaking, but fascinating."

"Ah, yes. You thought that when you were little, too."

Elsa turned her eyes to Prince Klaus. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I gave this same tour to you and your parents when you were just a little girl of about six or seven, and you exclaimed that she was the most beautiful lady you'd ever seen."

Elsa felt her chest expand. "So then I _have_ been here before!"

Prince Klaus laughed. "Of course you have—your family was invited here fifteen years ago for my brother Hugo's wedding. After your father explained to you that you would grow up to rule your own kingdom just like Queen Margrith, the servants would find you here almost every day staring up at this painting, dancing and singing to it."

"Oh," said Elsa, blushing.

"I figured you'd like to see it again now that you're older and in charge of your own kingdom."

"I appreciate that—thank you," said Elsa, her smile modest and sincere, before turning her eyes back towards the formidable woman in the painting before her.

"Pity you should have to come back and see it under such circumstances, but it's better than nothing." He paused for a sigh. "Anyway, carrying on…"

Elsa was filled with a strange nostalgia for this woman she had never met. She had known so very few people in her life that she could relate to, she found herself wishing Margrith would still be alive, that she might be able to speak to her and say… what? She wasn't even sure. Perhaps Margrith would find her a nuisance. An annoying, lonely child seeking out a playmate.

Elsa sighed and was then silently grateful for Anna. Though she might never be able to understand the solitude that sometimes encumbered her, the burden she carried day to day—the constant fear that lurked within the blood in her cool veins—Anna would always be there for her.

She could almost hear the nonstop chattering in her ears. She knew exactly what Anna would say had she been standing there with her at that moment: _What's with all the nicknames? Ignotus the Great. Barry the Brute. Margrith the Cold. They sure like labeling their ancestors. What do you think they'll be calling Hans a hundred years from now? Ooh, wait!—I've got one: Hans the A-hole._

Elsa smiled to herself.

She wished then that Anna were there with her so they could both marvel at the inscrutable face of Queen Margrith. But Anna had decided early that morning that she wished to spend as little time as possible within the confines of the castle—"surrounded by Westervillains," as she had so passionately put it—and as such had set off with Kristoff for a tour of the town. Meanwhile, Elsa had been forced to accept Klaus' invitation to tour the castle as a means of avoiding Gregor, but was now weighing the possibility of running into him against the possibility of keeling over from boredom.

Right as she decided in risk's favor and gave Klaus the excuse of a headache, Gregor appeared around the corner. She recoiled, suddenly quite intent on keeping in line behind Prince Klaus, thinking it would be better to follow him than to have Gregor follow her.

"Over here we have King Oliver, who took over the throne after Queen Margrith abdicated," Klaus was saying. "Oliver the Butcher. You'll never guess why they called him that."

Why it was that King Oliver was known as _the Butcher_, Elsa never heard. An open room to her right caught her attention. And while Prince Klaus yammered on, the allure of the room pulled her gingerly to it.

It was a den of sorts. Perfectly ordinary. Mahogany bookcases lined the walls and emerald curtains matched the gilded, pastel green sofas in the center of the room. The carpet was a complimentary shade of emerald, golden markings threaded through it in lacing spirals.

As Elsa looked on, she saw the room was also covered in ice.

Mounds of snow covered the carpet in patches. Spikes of crystal ice framed the windows, moving to curl around the ceiling, spreading to both ends of the room, wrapping around the light fixture that hung from the center of the small space.

Elsa's heart thumped agitatedly, as did that of the child so clearly visible in her mind's eye. She saw the little girl cornered on the opposite side of the room, hands clutched to the edge of the bookcase behind her, ice spreading from her fingers, covering the shelves. Her little chest rose and fell with heaving breaths and Elsa knew that where she stood at that present moment, an auburn haired boy had stood a long, long time ago.

_ Across from her stood a mahogany armoire, two gilded knobs shaped like roses protruding from its center. Gruff, threatening voices echoed in her mind. They weren't coming after her, but she dreaded them nonetheless._

It was a blur, whatever came between the sound of those voices and facing those gilded rose knobs. She knew that a small hand that wasn't hers rested on one_—_

_The other hand wrapped around her upper arm, pulling her up and shoving her forward. Then there was darkness, save a thin vertical line of white light where the armoire doors met._

_"What the devil!" one of the voices yelled. "What is this?"_

_ "I-I don't know," answered a voice several octaves higher, far more innocent in its tone than in the previous one._

_ "Don't you lie to us, you little turd!" said the other voice. "Where'd all this ice come from?"_

_ "I said I don't know!"_

_ "You think you can just go around wrecking things, eh, dimwit?" said the first gruff voice. "We'll show you what we do with little boys that lie!"_

_ "No! Argh! Let me go! Let me _go!_"_

"Queen Elsa?"

Elsa inhaled sharply as the memory faded from the room. She turned to find Prince Klaus watching her curiously.

"Is everything all right?" he asked.

"Y-yes," she replied, turning her eyes back to the room, blinking, still perplexed by the vision.

"Has your headache worsened?" asked Prince Klaus. "I can have one of the maids prepare you something… some birch bark concoction perhaps?"

"No," said Elsa, still fighting the memory's pull. "No, I'm quite fine. I think perhaps—perhaps I just need some fresh air."

"Yes, of course. Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No, that's quite all right, thank you."

She gave a slight bow of her head before turning and heading off. Her footsteps echoed across the empty halls, slow at first but quickly gaining speed.

She flew down three flights of stairs before arriving at the main hall and stepping out unto the castle grounds. Cutting across the gardens, keeping her head down in hopes that she wouldn't call attention to herself, Elsa swiftly made her way to the dungeons.

The last time she had stepped in here, it had been almost a struggle with her own body. It had been agony just to set one foot inside the darkened hall. But even though only two days separated that moment and the present one, the determination and urgency in her steps now marked the great difference.

Barnabas sat on the bench. He rose abruptly to his feet as he saw her approaching. As she passed him and headed to the cell, he bowed his head, saying, "Your Majesty, I wasn't expecting you so—"

"Barnabas, I'd like to have a private word with Prince Hans, if that's all right."

The guard looked at her quizzically. "But—"

"I promise there will be no confusion. All I need is a quick word."

Barnabas closed his mouth. He remained seemingly unconvinced, but to her gratefulness left without another word.

Elsa turned to the barred gate in front of her, searching the darkness within the chamber behind it. Finally, she spotted a pale arm illuminated by the light of the torch.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Her fingers wrapped around the cold metal bars. A figure was slowly rising from a small cot at the back of the cell.

"Queen Elsa—back so soon?" said Hans. "I'm almost inclined to think you missed me."

Elsa ignored the jibe and pressed on. "You knew about my powers."

"What's that now?" he said, standing and approaching the barred gate.

"I was here fifteen years ago for your brother Hugo's wedding—you found me in the den by all the paintings of your ancestors. I'd lost control of my powers—ice was everywhere—your brothers were coming and you—"

"I shoved you into the armoire," Hans finished.

They watched each other in silence for a second, Elsa's heart giving an odd beat as she held her breath.

"So you knew," she finally said, her voice strained. "All this time, back in Arendelle… before that— "

"I remembered a little girl with the power to manipulate ice," said Hans firmly. "I never made the connection until the night of your coronation."

He perused her, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. Elsa felt the push of her tongue against her teeth as she tried in vain to hold back her words.

"You never told," she said.

Hans squinted with curiosity.

"You never mentioned to anyone what you'd seen," she proceeded, avoiding his eyes now. "Your brothers came and you—took the blame—"

"So?"

"Why?" she burst, with far more desperation than she would have liked. "Why did you do it?"

She squeezed the bars to repress her shaking, frost spreading just past the place where her skin made contact with the metal.

"What does it matter?" he asked.

"I just want to understand," she pleaded, agitation creeping into the edges of her words.

"Understand _what?_"

"Understand how you and that boy could possibly be the same person!"

Her voice echoed down the empty halls. It bounced off the stone walls and washed back over her, rendering her motionless. Her cheeks colored and she stood more stiffly, noticing now the frost that spread up and down the chamber's metal bars.

His expression was unreadable. She couldn't tell if what she saw there was amusement or cynical contempt—those feelings seemed to run along a very thin line for him.

"That boy," he began, a calculated note in his voice, "was far too _young_ and _naïve_ to understand the way the real world works. Thankfully, he grew up and he learned. He knows better than to make the same stupid mistakes again."

And as he spat that last sentence out, his eyes lost something. Or at least they seemed to strain to keep something there that was quickly fading—an intensity, a flame that dimmed with a cold winter draft. The green of his eyes had suddenly dulled. Whether he was aware of this or not, Elsa couldn't be sure, but at any rate he turned before she could explore the notion further.

She watched as he retreated into the bowels of his cell. She gripped the bars tightly again, an inexplicable urgency rising inside her to keep him there, to keep him talking.

"Prince Gregor told me the truth about why you came to Arendelle," she said, and her heartbeat sped up, unsure even as she spoke as to whether or not this move was a good one.

Either way, Hans stopped mid-track back to his cot. He turned his head so that his voice carried over his shoulder. "Did he, now?"

"Yes," said Elsa, blinking rapidly, wringing the bars with her hands. "He told me about—about Jon, and your plans…"

She threw a cautious glance to the small hallway into which Barnabas had gone.

"Queen Elsa, what's the point of all this?"

Startled by the question, she whipped her attention back to Hans. "The point?"

"What exactly are you trying to get at?"

Hans was facing her again, his expression as unfriendly as before but free of its usual derision. He somehow seemed even more sinister with the mockery stripped from his face.

"I—" she began.

"Because if you're trying to find some sliver of goodness in my character to help ease your consciousness, to help you decide whether I'm worth saving, then let me save you some time: there's nothing there."

"That's not why—"

"Isn't it?" he fired back. "Are you really not here, asking all these questions, to try to get inside my head on the small chance that you'll find some redeeming quality that will finally convince you to save me? If you're going to do it, do it, and if you're not then so be it. Believe it or not, your mind is already made up—you just keep finding excuses. Nothing is going to dissuade you from what you want to do. Learn to live with your decisions, Queen Elsa, as I have done with mine. Stop coming here trying to see things in me that simply aren't there."

Elsa stood perplexed, her heart pounding in her chest, her breathing shallow. All she could do was stare as she stewed in her own mixture of embarrassment and frustration.

She swallowed before casting her eyes down. "I'm sorry," she said calmly, as he glanced up. "Forgive me for coming here with the hope that some part of you would still be human enough to deserve some sympathy."

Hans' lips curled. "Don't," he spat. "That's bullshit and you know it. You say I could deserve some sympathy, but what you really mean is _pity_ and I sure as hell don't need yours. Or anyone else's, for that matter."

Elsa scowled. "That's not—"

"I told you before," he continued. "I have no remorse for what I tried to do in Arendelle. I don't know what Gregor told you, but I have no intention whatsoever of being a martyr. I did what I thought was necessary and, given the chance, I'd do it again. The ends will always justify the means, Queen Elsa. This world is run by those with power and the weak get trampled underneath the feet of those fighting to get it. You'd be wise to learn that lesson yourself."

Elsa regarded him coldly. "Is that your philosophy on life?"

"Call it what you want," he said. "It's the truth."

"So then that boy who saved me years ago—"

"Is dead," Hans finished for her. "Quit trying to find him. You won't see him again."

Elsa stared at him, searching.

Again, he turned away. "Now, if you'll excuse me… my days and my hours are counted. I'd rather not spend them talking to you."

Silently, she watched him go. The tension faded from her muscles, but not without leaving in them a deadweight that seemed to slowly sink her body into the ground.

So that was it. He was just an empty man after all, cold and analytical, detached from human sentiment. Perhaps once, a long time ago, things had been different. But too much time had passed. Too much damage had been done. What was left was no more than an empty vessel that had once possessed a thriving soul and beating heart. He left no illusions—he had, after all, told her so himself: she was seeking out the nonexistent.

Her fingers were wrapped limply around the bars when she felt it start again—the relentless tapping on her palm. A subtle and simple reminder of the heart she had felt beating inside him two nights ago. A heart very much alive.

A heart very much still there.

Like the spark of an ember igniting a fire, Elsa let it refuel her strength. The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.

"I don't believe you."

"I don't care what you believe," Hans replied offhandedly from the back of his cell, granting her such little importance that he didn't even bother to glance back. "All I care about is that you leave. Now."

Elsa pushed past the instinct that begged her not to proceed.

"I think… I think you're scared."

"Do you really?" The coolness with which he replied almost completely convinced Elsa to quit while she was ahead.

"I've seen him—that boy. I saw him the other night."

His shoulders shook as he scoffed.

Elsa squeezed the bars again to keep from losing momentum.

"I think you hide him…" She licked her lips, struggling to get the words out, struggling to make them _mean _something, "I think—I think you're scared that someone will find him, cowering inside of you…"

This time Hans remained motionless. While this sudden lack of reaction frightened her, it hinted that she might have struck a painful nerve, and thus also empowered her. She proceeded with a vigor she might have called careless.

"You lie and you cheat and you deceive, but it's all just a front you put up," she said. "Because you're scared. You're terrified that others will know how scared, how hurt you actually are—"

He stood erect now, facing the back wall. Though it was dark inside there, Elsa thought she saw his fingers curl into fists. But she couldn't stop now, not when she had finally found her voice against him.

"You're scared that they'll find you weak, that they'll once again take advantage of you—scared they'll see that boy who runs and hides in the garden and cries—"

"_ENOUGH!_"

Hans' voice boomed throughout the dungeon. The flame of a nearby torch flickered, causing shadows to tremble on the walls. Elsa's mouth hung slightly agape as any remaining words dissolved there on her tongue.

He finally turned around and looked at her. There was no mistaking it now—his hands were balled into tight, rigid fists.

"Let me make something very clear to you, _Your Majesty_…"

He started back towards her as he spoke. Elsa's breath quickened as her fingers instinctively began to unwrap from around the bars.

"You… don't… _know_… _ANYTHING_!"

Elsa leaped back with a gasp as Hans slammed his hands unto the bars, rattling the door with such intensity that she was certain he would manage to break through. She sprinted backwards until her back collided with the wall behind her. Ice spread across its lower half the moment she came into contact with it.

The flames of the torch lit up Hans' pale face, muscles contorted with rage, nostrils flaring. His eyes were an ardent, furious green that bore through her face and chilled her to the bone, reminding her just what he was capable of. His fingers wrung the bars of the gate, white knuckles exploding into red. She knew those bars were only an incompetent substitution for her neck.

"You don't know anything about me, or my life, or the things I've been through or why I do the things I do! You—pampered and protected your whole life!" Elsa flinched as he shook the gate again. "_You_, standing outside these bars, free, with the power to create or destroy resting literally in the palm of your hands! What could you possibly know?"

Ice had spread from beneath the soles of her shoes across the stony surface of the floor. Snowflakes were falling from the ceiling all around them, a light, slow descent at first that steadily increased in speed and density.

Her heart was racing, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. _Control it. Don't feel_, she said to herself. _Don't feel!_

But it was hard to listen to her own voice when his still echoed loudly in her mind.

_Pampered and protected your whole life!_

_What could you possibly know?_

Elsa lifted a hand to bring to her chest and for the first time realized she was shaking. She unwound her fingers, turning her palm up, silently watching the incessant tremors that rippled through her muscles and bones, gazing at the product of her fear and vulnerability gathering on her hand.

"What could I possibly know?" she said softly, scathingly. "What could I possibly—" The question was too insulting to finish uttering it a second time. Indignation swelled up inside her, drowning out the rest of the words. She held out her open palm where a small mound of snow had formed.

"This?" she asked, holding her hand up to eye level. "Is _this_ what you want? The so-called power to create or destroy?"

Hans said nothing, though his face remained twisted, his grip on the metal bars unwavering.

"Take it," she said. "I don't want it. I never have."

She held his gaze. Though she saw his jaw clench, she didn't flinch: For the first time, she felt defiant. For the first time she felt firm in her shoes, the truth of her own sorrow resting cool in her curling hand.

"In all my years of living with this curse, I don't recall a single day where I felt I had such power. I never once felt invincible. I never once felt strong or in control of anything. I have never reaped anything from this curse except for pain. I've done nothing with it except hurt the people I love. I've spent my entire life trying to control it, suppress it, hide it—I grew up being told people wouldn't understand. Having no one to talk to, hating myself for what I am, for whatever _this_ is…

"Is that what you call a pampered and protected life?" Elsa asked. "Because to me it felt like imprisonment. It still does. And as long as I have to live with this, it always will."

She closed her fist tightly around the snow in her palm.

"So don't ask what I could possibly know about fear, about solitude, about rejection. I have faced more than my fair share. And to answer your question, _yes_. I came here seeking some sliver of goodness in you because some part of me believed that you and I were alike. That maybe, like me, deep down you too were scared, hurt, lost…"

Words were spilling out of her mouth ceaselessly now, in an almost Anna-like manner, with little caution for what she said or what he would think. She looked up at him and found that his expression had softened—_slightly, _but it was enough. The hard lines on his face had relaxed to a point that she sensed he was retaining at least some of what she was saying.

"But you're right. That was my mistake. It's clear we're nothing alike, because all you seek is revenge and a way to impose your power on others, a way to make those who hurt you pay. While for me, in all my time living with this burden the only person I ever wanted dead was—"

She caught herself and the last word melted on her tongue. She looked up at him, petrified. Something in his expression seemed to hold some of that subtle shock and curiosity of that boy in the garden many years ago, as his eyes had landed on the blooming rose of ice in her hand.

Elsa didn't need to speak the word. He knew. She had said enough that she would never need to say anything more to make him understand. Nor would she ever be able to say anything to make him forget what she'd almost said.

Slowly, she opened up her fist and found that the small mound of snow had morphed into a sharp icicle.

She swallowed. "I'm sorry for having taken up so much of your time. It won't happen again."

She turned and walked away, clutching the small icicle in her hand. She ignored Barnabas as she passed him—the guard stood just to the side, silent but solemn, clearly having heard everything that had just transpired.

Something inside Elsa seemed to bubble, threatening to burst, and on the way up the stairs she flung the icicle to the wall, where it shattered and fell onto the steps in a cluster of tiny crystals.


	7. Chapter 7: Part 1

**A/N:** Just in case this gets a bit confusing, this chapter will be broken into six parts (five maybe - still deciding). This is Chapter Seven: Part One, so the next time I post it won't be Chapter Eight but Chapter Seven: Part Two and so on and so forth until all parts have been posted. I felt it just worked better this way; hopefully it does. Before I go, I wanna take a quick moment to thank everyone for reading this fic and of course a million thanks to my awesome beta **flubbergutter** for helping me out with this fic!

**Disclaimer:** There's a bit of dialogue in this chapter that's been taken directly from the movie and that all obviously belongs to Disney and the powers that be. Please, nobody sue me, all I have is a cat and she's even more neurotic than I am.

I think that's it for now. Enjoy!

**SEVEN**

**Part 1**

"It is absolutely despicable!"

Elsa jerked in her seat as a hard pounding startled her. She looked up and found that the Spanish dignitary's face was a dark shade of red that reached all the way up to the very roots of his receding hairline. His closed fist rested on the surface of the wooden barrier in front of him, solid and as red as his face.

"The way he fooled us all! Sometimes I feel like I cannot contain my anger. If I had had any idea of what he was up to, I do not know what I would have done!"

She watched him keenly for a moment, intrigued by his outpour of righteous anger. Anyone watching but not listening would've easily thought it was him whom Hans had promised to marry and then tried to decapitate. Even Elsa, who had been at the very heart of the dilemma, thought the dignitary a tad bit over dramatic. She didn't think she could summon enough energy to feel half the level of rage Minister Romero de Garzia was currently exuding. Court had only been in session for less than an hour and she was already exhausted. She turned her eyes back down to the place on her lap where her hands rested and let out a silent sigh.

It was difficult to say which she had dreaded most: sitting in court all day, reliving memories she struggled day-to-day to put behind her, or waiting to sit in front of Hans and a large crowd of strangers to recount her own story. In any case, neither was better than the other. The only thing she'd managed to do to maintain her calm was to tune out the testimonies. Getting lost within her own pool of thoughts was something she had become somewhat of an expert at. What else was there for a young girl to do when she had no choice but to grow up estranged from the world?

But even her own thoughts did little to alleviate the stress of having to listen to the overdramatic accounts of second party witnesses or the discomfort of sitting so close to Hans as echoes of their last conversation still inhabited her mind. Whether she remained present or tried to tune everything out, she was trapped by some level of misery. There was simply no escape.

"Not just what he did to us as dignitaries," Minister de Garzia continued, "He made fools of us! He made us trust him! We believed everything he said! But that is not what angers me most—what angers me most is what he did to those poor girls!"

He gestured with his hand in Elsa and Anna's direction.

"Those two poor innocent girls!"

She and Anna exchanged sideway glances. Elsa couldn't help feeling as if Minister de Garzia was trying to fit a child's garment over her head; as if she and Anna were simply nothing more than naïve children who had been lured into a house made of candy by a witch in a forest.

She brought her gaze back down to her hands, where a thin line of frost kept building up beneath her fingernails.

_Those two poor innocent girls…_

As if Anna hadn't patiently watched from the windows as their parents left the castle so she could ride her bike indoors just as they had forbid her. As if she didn't now sneak into Elsa's wardrobe to steal her clothes without her permission. Anna who didn't know that Elsa was aware that she snuck out of the castle after dark to meet Kristoff in the forest. Anna who at this very moment sat beside her with a blade inside her boot.

As if anger didn't still bubble up inside her whenever she thought of her dead parents and their pitiful solution to lock her up. As if she didn't now grit her teeth behind her smile every time someone made a passing joke about her powers. As if it hadn't been her at the North Mountain just about a month ago about to impale a guard with icicles and push the other off the edge of her castle. As if she didn't often wonder whether she'd hesitate to do it again should someone bring her to the edge of her patience once more.

Where was the line drawn between what made one innocent and what didn't? Because from where she stood it looked blurry—and somehow it always seemed that just as she was about to cross it, it moved just a little farther up. But when would it stop? When difficult choices arose, when a man had to choose between the life of a queen and that of thousands of his people, where would that line finally rest?

"_Whatever you have to say you can say to both of us," Anna said._

_Elsa could feel her patience leaving her like pressured air through a crack in a pipe. Her eyes darted towards Hans, who stood unflinching beside Anna, his face as oblivious as a child's. She fixed him with a glare before turning her eyes back to her sister._

_There were several things she would've liked to say to him loudly and without restraint had she not been queen. First, she would have asked him if he thought she was stupid. Second, she would have pointed out just how poorly thought out his plan was. Did he really not think she would see through his charade? First he tried to charm her into dancing with him and then moments later he was asking permission to marry her sister?_

_But not only was she as queen always obligated to keep her cool, there was just no way that confronting him would go down well with Anna, who could dig her heels in deeper than any mule._

_There was also the little detail where she couldn't actually accuse him of having tried to charm her. For all she knew that was all in her head. Maybe she had read his signals wrong. She had spent thirteen years inside the castle walls with only her father and then later Kai as a male companion, and their conversations had never ventured further than the affairs of the castle. How was she supposed to know when a man smiled because he was trying to charm her or because he was simply made that way?_

_Still, something like annoyance burned like acid inside her and when she turned to Anna it only seemed to intensify._

_Anna with that peachy glow to her skin as if she had been kissed by spring. Anna who had eyes like an enchantress and a smile that could substitute the summer sun. Of course it was completely plausible that someone like him could fall instantly for someone like her. Anna who could touch, who could feel, who was free to walk out of the palace whenever she pleased…_

_It was difficult to focus on the key points of the problem at hand as she stared into the face of all that she could've been if only she hadn't been born with this curse._

_The frustration bubbled hot inside her and at last, feeling unusually merciless, she replied, "Fine—you can't marry a man you just met."_

_ "You can if it's true love!" Anna protested._

_ "Anna, what do you know about true love?" She didn't mean to be condescending, but that was precisely how her words came out. _

_ "More than you! All you know is how to shut people out!"_

_ Elsa blinked, dumbfounded. Anna's words stung, and yet—she had said nothing that wasn't true. She would also always have that. In spite of their estrangement, Anna was still the closest person to her. She would always know better than anyone exactly where all her sore buttons lay hidden and just how to push them._

_She recollected her thoughts and tried to ignore the constricting pain inside her chest. "You asked for my blessing but my answer is no. Now, excuse me."_

_ "Your Majesty, if I may ease your—"_

_ She felt his fingers graze her arm and she pulled away. It was his attempt at touching her more than his words that had caused her to snap._

_ "No, you may not." She couldn't help noticing in the very back of her mind how much that annoyance felt like betrayal, how they both burned with the same kind of fire—as if Hans owed her anything, as if she were some kind of woman scorned. _

"_And…I-I think you should go. The party is over. Close the gates."_

How petty it would all seem compared to what had happened only moments after. She could see, almost as if she were still standing in her own ballroom, her own bare-naked hand suspended in mid-air in front of her and the barrier of upturned spiky icicles that separated her from the rest of the room. Some part of her had hardly believed it. Even the gasps and shrieks of the guests had seemed to come as if from some distant dream.

But a voice had pulled her out of that self-protecting part of her subconscious, reminding her that this was very real and worse than any nightmare she could've ever had.

"_Sorcery!"_

She had looked up then, met the dozens of faces that stared at her wide eyed with terror and confusion, mouths hanging open and twisted with repulsion.

Except for one face. Her eyes had turned to him and she found that there had been no repulsion there, no fear—just a mere glimmer of curiosity.

It had meant nothing then. In the midst of all her turmoil, she'd had little room inside her mind to acknowledge his reaction. She'd hardly had time to recollect her sister's own concern as she called out her name. But the memory resurfaced now, clear as day.

He had been the only one aside from her sister who hadn't recoiled. Perhaps it had been recognition, or a moment of fascination at this power he so coveted. But for the flicker of a second he seemed to have understood something about Elsa that she had only recently begun to understand herself.


	8. Chapter 7: Part 2

**A/N:** Just dropping in really quickly to thank everyone who's taken the time out to read this fic. A kazillion thanks also to my awesome beta flubbegutter for working her magic and helping to sharpen it up! Hope you guys enjoy!

SEVEN

Part 2

Minister Jean Claude Beaumont was the only one of the dignitaries to sit comfortably at the witness stand. His back relaxed unto the wooden seat, his hands casually slumping off the armrests, one leg crossed over the other. He looked like someone who had just dropped in for a casual chat. Other witnesses had stuttered; many had raged, and many had bitten their fingernails down to the cuticle, but Jean Claude Beaumont, it seemed, was expecting his cup of tea at any moment.

"'Ee waz kind and 'elpful; very conscious of ze needs of ze people in Arendelle. 'Ee left ze castle doors open for zem, and invited zem in for soup and blankets and went out in ze cold 'imself to give zem cloaks. It was 'ard not to believe zere wuz good in 'im…" he paused a moment to survey his fingernails, then just as casually added, "per'aps 'ee would've been a good king."

A communal gasp rippled through the audience when he said this. Even Elsa was unable to prevent the slight frown that formed on her face.

"Indeed, I'm sure Hans must've done a great many things," said Prince Josef, casting a long, derisory glance at his youngest brother—as if he needed any other reason to slump with exhaustion than by the weight of his chains. Prince Josef turned around and faced Minister Beaumont and continued, scathingly, "…but they were all _lies_."

"Were zey?" asked Beaumont.

Elsa's frown evolved into a full-blown scowl. Whose side was Minister Beaumont on? Had he not seen everything Hans had done on the frozen fjord? Had he forgotten seeing Hans from the castle balcony, standing above her, more than ready to strike her with his sword? Had he forgotten how he had lied to them—told them Anna was _dead_ when she was but a few rooms away, fighting for her life?

Where Minister de Garzia had exuded a surplus of rage, Minister Beaumont seriously lacked it. It was one thing to sit in the witness stand and make overdramatic accusations, but it was another to sit there and pretend like the person everyone knew to have attempted murder was being too harshly judged.

Elsa hated having anything in common with the Westergard brothers, but she couldn't help feeling as though Prince Josef was speaking her own thoughts as he proceeded.

"Monsieur Beaumont, with all due respect, how can you ask such a question? He was pretending! Putting on a show to fool everyone!"

"_Oui_," said Beaumont. "Zat is true…but ze acts zemselves were real, were zey not?"

Prince Josef opened his mouth to speak, but a sudden frown halted his attempt. Elsa's scowl softened into a quizzical frown once more. In spite of her inhibitions, Elsa found herself listening closely to what Minister Beaumont had to say.

"_Oui_, per'aps 'ee wuz lying. And _oui_, per'aps 'ee 'ad ozer intentions. But why should zat matter? Ze acts—ze time and ze care 'ee put into ensuring ze people were well taken care of—zat waz real. Actions speak louder zan words, is zat not what zey say? 'Oo is to say 'ee would not do ze same if 'ee 'ad been king?"

"Monsieur, are you trying to imply that Prince Hans—"

"_Non_," said Beaumont unperturbed by Prince Josef's threatening tone. "I do not try to imply anyzing. I only wish to speak ze truth. And ze truth is zat 'ee took care of us. Ze truth is zat 'ee did good zings. Zat cannot be denied. Zat cannot be overlooked."

Eager chatter buzzed throughout the courtroom. Elsa found she was holding her breath, her previous indignation fading, even as she grappled within herself for reasons to remain offended. She was overcome by a staggering sensation, as though she had been looking out through a foggy window until Minister Beaumont had come by and wiped it clean.

She would be lying to herself if she persisted in thinking Monsieur Beaumont was deluded. Whatever Hans' ulterior intentions, the dignitary was right—he hadn't allowed anyone in Arendelle to suffer while she and her sister had been gone. As much as people wanted to paint him a bloodthirsty animal, he had done right by Arendelle and everyone within it. Minister Beaumont hadn't been trying to defend Hans. All he'd been trying to do was point out details people had been overlooking. After all, it would be unfair to only look at what he had done wrong and ignore what he had done right.

A memory flashed in her mind of the last conversation she'd had with Gregor.

_"…I am asking you _not_ to ignore the good…"_

It was all he had ever wanted. The only thing he had ever asked for.

Even Prince Josef seemed unable to find much that could counter argue with Beaumont's point, his mouth halting shut at last. A shadow seemed to fall across his eyes: his eyebrows lowered, the rest of his features fell. He exchanged glances with Prince Jon, whose expression was almost identical, if leaning towards stone-like.

"Thank you, Monsieur," said Prince Josef, finally. "That will be all."

Elsa glanced over at Hans and found that he appeared unmoved. She had expected to find him standing more alert, his expression open and refreshed with new hope. But his disposition remained completely unaltered. Minister Beaumont had as good as testified in his favor—did that not mean anything to him? Was he so detached and dead inside that he couldn't even bring himself to care when someone came to his aid?

Elsa could almost confirm this simply by recalling the first night she'd gone down into the dungeons after agreeing to him. Even as Gregor pleaded with him, maintaining his pride had been more of a priority to him than saving his life.

But just like with Minister Beaumont's balanced testimony, she couldn't just remember that part of that night and ignore the rest. She couldn't just say he had been vile without also keeping in mind the frantic beating of his heart, the small flash of fear that crossed his eyes when he thought he had blundered and allowed her too far in.

She remembered something else too: Not too long ago, as the world had swirled frozen around her, she herself had been so out of hope that the nearby sound of a sword unsheathing couldn't compel her to stand and fight.

Feeling guilty for having judged his demeanor too quickly, Elsa retracted her initial thoughts. Maybe Hans wasn't dead inside. Maybe hopelessness now gripped him as it had once her, absolute, uncompromising: maybe he had merely given up.

And as the testimonies continued, she thought perhaps Hans was right in not getting his hopes up. One had to wonder if the French Dignitary's testimony could hold up once the ex-Duke of Wesselton was through with his own.

"I was on the Queen's side the entire time!"

"Mr. Norling—" said Prince Josef, addressing the ex-Duke.

"That foul boy framed me!"

He gestured so vigorously that his toupee flapped atop his head.

"Please, Mr. Norling, do sit down."

Mr. Norling smoothed his hair back as he slid back down to his seat. Anna snorted from beside Elsa—she had also noticed that the ex-Duke was only visible from the neck up behind the barrier surrounding the witness stand. Elsa pressed her lips together to keep them from stretching across her face.

"Now—please—continue," said Prince Josef.

Mr. Norling put his fist over his mouth and cleared his throat as if to gather himself. However, in a matter of seconds his face was flushed red once more, and he gestured aggressively with his arms in the air.

"I have been humiliated beyond repair! Stripped of my title! I'm the joke of Wesselton! I cannot even begin to explain how damaged I am as a person now! Me—an innocent man!"

Elsa caught herself as her eyes had rolled up halfway. Terrified that someone had seen her, she gazed quickly around the room. In her visual scan, what she encountered instead was Hans in full eyeroll mode, not much caring for who could see him.

Elsa's attention was quickly turned away by Gregor raising his hand across the room, holding a cylinder of papers in the other.

"Yes, Gregor," said Prince Jon.

"If you were found innocent, why then were you stripped of your title?" Gregor asked the ex-Duke.

"An injustice!" shrieked the ex-Duke. "After this man took my guards and persuaded them to hurt the Queen, I was unjustly accused of being behind it all. Our High Judge at Wesselton could find no proof for or against it, so he saw it fit to humiliate me by taking away from me my greatest honor, which was to serve Wesselton! After all, that is all that I am—no more than a humble servant!"

"That's quite strange, Mr. Norling," said Gregor holding up the sheets of parchment in his hand, "seeing as I have here in my hand sent straight to me from Wesselton the testimonies of your two personal guards who both concur that it was you who sent them after the Queen."

Slightly surprised, Elsa realized then that Gregor had been doing far more work than just following her around and asking for her help. Her own lack of insight was what truly surprised her most—she should've expected Gregor to be covering all grounds. He didn't seem like the sort of person who'd jump blindly into a situation without some sort of backup plan.

"Lies!" bellowed the ex-Duke, standing once more. "All lies! They are in cahoots with him!" He pointed a finger sharp as a dagger at Han, who seemed somehow completely impermeable by his accusations.

"How did you go free?" asked Gregor.

"Because I am innocent!"

"What arrangements did you come to, Mr. Norling?" asked Gregor, as if the ex-Duke had never spoken. "Did he let you off with a slap on the wrist in exchange for half of your gold?"

The ex-Duke blinked repeatedly before suddenly coming back to himself. "W-why, I never!"

"Perhaps if the High Judge of Wesselton wasn't also your nephew we'd be at your trial right now."

"That has nothing—"

"Perhaps if you'd beaten Prince Hans to the punch we'd be arguing your case now and my brother would be sitting where you are now, telling everyone how your guards cold-bloodedly murdered the Queen of Arendelle at your orders—"

"Gregor—" said Prince Jon sternly, but Gregor ignored him.

"—we'd be discussing, instead, the documents found in your personal library, which somehow conveniently disappeared just before your trial began, with all your schemes for taking over Arendelle by whatever means available—"

"This is preposterous!" cried the ex-Duke.

"I agree," said Gregor. "It's preposterous how you can sit there and point fingers at my brother when you are no less guilty than he is. Luckier, perhaps—but no less guilty."

Elsa's heart was hammering inside her chest. Suddenly, all the hilarity of the moment had faded away, like a cloud of black smoke that dissipated, revealing something darker and more sinister behind it. The ex-Duke's toupee, his dramatic gesticulations; they were all no more than nuances which distracted her from thoughts she was too fearful of exploring.

She could still see the metallic glint of the point of the arrow meant to kill her, embedded deep into her impromptu barrier of ice. More explicitly, she could still feel the profound chill that split her chest, the terrible gouge of coldness that struck when she finally opened her eyes and found the arrow just grazing the space between her eyebrows.

But she'd had no time to think of metaphors about staring death in the face, or even to go down the list of things she would never have gotten to do with her life had she died in that moment. She hadn't even had a second to fill her lungs with the breath of a second chance. That breath that was now a gift to her; it was a blessing that each heartbeat still sent the blood like precious ichor coursing through her veins—the guards had repositioned themselves before she could even blink. Like merciless, cold-blooded machines, they had been programmed to complete their task at any cost. They hadn't given her much of a choice.

In spite of all their efforts, a wave of her hands was all she had needed to even out the fight. Perhaps it had been their relentlessness that had started the frustration, which had slowly, dangerously, evolved into fury. But what she could no longer do was deny that such wrath had, if only for a fraction of time, existed within her, flowing as easily and freely through her body as her still-pumping blood: and giving it into it burned.

That day, up at the North Mountain, holding both guards off with each of her hands, a surge of scorching energy had filled her, blooming at her core and spreading outward through her limbs, swirling around inside her head, almost enough to make her dizzy. It was as if in that moment she had been transformed; felt the solidity of her body, the rigidness of her bones as she stood firmly and focused—as if somehow this aggressive use of her powers was somehow bringing together parts of her she once thought she had lost. She felt as though she were suddenly made of steel. Nothing could touch her, nothing could break her…

Elsa turned her eyes down as they led a protesting Mr. Norling out of the court. His voice was only a distant echo compared to that of Hans, a loud, clear ringing in her mind:

_So much power in a single fingertip…the power to create or destroy resting literally in the palm of your hand…_

Gregor was wrong. This would not have been the ex-Duke's trial. It would have been hers.

Had it not been for Hans.

"_Don't be the monster they fear you are!"_

_Monster_. As if he could read her mind, he knew precisely the trigger word that would prick at her most sharply to catch her attention. He had understood, somehow, without ever having known her, that guilt would consume her far longer and more mercilessly than the relief she would feel had she gone ahead and destroyed the guards. Hans had known without knowing her that this wasn't who she really was.

She turned her eyes to where he stood at the front of the courtroom.

How could a person produce so much compassion and understanding when they had no source from which to learn it? How could they know all the right things to say at all the right times if they had never been said to them first, if they themselves had never felt them?

"_Why did you bring me here?"_

_"I couldn't just let them kill you."_

This is what he had said to her in one of those instances when she had believed him to be sincere, compassionate, to be fighting on her side. For the briefest of moments he was her ally, a hero in his own way. He saved her—not only in the literal, physical sense, for he kept her from making a mistake; she would have regretted such an act for the rest of her life, would never have been able to come back from it.

Elsa's eyes narrowed thoughtfully while still looking at Hans. It would've been so much easier—so much cleaner—if he had allowed the ex-Duke's guards to end her. He would have gotten exactly what he wanted without ever having to lift a finger, without any of the blame ever having to land on him. So why stop them? Why get in their way?

_"Why did you bring me here?"_

_ "I couldn't just let them kill you."_

Why on earth not? Why not let them kill her when it had been his objective all along?

The two phrases turned in her head like a tumbleweed caught in a high wind—turning round and round in an endless loop.

_"Why did you bring me here?"_

_ "I couldn't just let them kill you."_

Then all of a sudden it stopped. Everything seemed to fall to silence. The wind subsided, the dust settled; Elsa's eyes widened with a sudden realization: perhaps she had been asking the wrong question.

Yes, it would have been quite simple to allow the guards to have their way with her. But it would come with too many questions. Anna would never have forgiven it, for starters. She never would have been able to marry the man that allowed her sister to be killed. He couldn't fail Anna and risk losing her admiration. Or at least, it would have cost Hans extra effort and time—both of which he didn't have—to convince Anna to forgive him.

But surely he could have risked Elsa failing Anna.

If what he needed was a reason to justify her death, then why not allow her to kill the guards? Why not let her bury herself in the eyes of her sister and her own people by allowing her to destroy the ex-Duke's guards, thus proving to everyone how truly dangerous she could be? Why not allow her to become the monster they all feared she was?

_That_ would have been a better question. But given all the parts of Hans' personality that she already had trouble putting together, it was a question to which Elsa couldn't even begin to fathom the answer.


	9. Chapter 7: Part 3

**A/N:** So, it's been a million years but here is another chapter at last. I apologize for this having taken so long but better late than never, right? I can't promise that the next few chapters will be posted soon, but I can promise that they WILL be posted. Thank you all for your patience and taking your time out to read the silly musings of my brain. Hope you guys enjoy these two new posts!

Shout out to my bad ass beta** flubbergutter **for her awesome and time consuming work editing this fic!

SEVEN

Part 3

Elsa felt heavy. Her very bones seemed to have increased in density as the day dragged on. Though she'd done no more than sit in her chair all day, she was exhausted: her movements, slight as they might be, were sluggish, weary. She had listened all day as people recalled some of her worst memories, every reinterpretation of events mounting on her shoulders and adding to gravity's hold on her. For a moment, she wondered whether she would ever be able to shake the weight off.

Kristoff and Anna's testimonies had almost pushed her past her limits. Until now, she had managed to remain sufficiently detached from everyone else's testimonies. As secondary witnesses, their accounts were all somewhat vague and lacking in important details.

But when Kristoff and Anna—the only other two witnesses who, like her, had not only viewed but partaken in the events that occurred on the frozen fjord—sat in the witness stand and told their own version of the events, she once again felt herself thrown in the midst of that wild winter. She saw once again everything play out through her own eyes. So precise were their words, so true to everything she'd experienced herself, that Elsa had only been able to snap out of the reverie projected into her mind by the crackling of the coat of ice that wrapped and thickened around the armrests of her chair.

She could only breathe a small sigh of relief when Prince Jon announced there was only one witness left to testify. But just as quickly as the relief had washed over her, it lifted again. With a fresh batch of nerves that roused her from her state of deadweight, she realized that _she_ was that last witness.

Before Prince Jon could call her to the stand by name, Gregor stood from his chair, interrupting the process and for a moment pausing the ripple of nerves that coursed through her.

"Jon, if I may," he began. "I have one more witness I'd like to call to the stand before we continue."

"Our list of witnesses for the day is complete, Gregor. I'm afraid there's no time for last minute testimonies."

Unperturbed, Gregor simply clasped his hands in front of him and proceeded, "Yes, I agree that this is all very last minute, but during my research for the case I came upon some valuable information that I feel sheds some light into areas of the story we haven't heard before. We really wouldn't want those present here today to feel like they haven't heard all they need to hear."

Prince Jon surveyed the audience cautiously from beneath his brows, as if weighing how much they would read into this exchange. "I'm sorry. It's just not possible. Queen Elsa is our next witness and I really wouldn't want to keep her waiting."

"No, of course not," said Gregor and for the smallest fraction of a second Elsa thought he might actually stand down. Instead, he turned his eyes towards her and said tentatively, "But if Her Majesty didn't mind…"

"Gregor—" Prince Jon began to protest.

"I don't," said Elsa, the words slipping out of her mouth before she could stop them. She felt Prince Jon's hard stare on her face and forcefully ignored it. "I don't mind at all."

A short moment of silence filled the courtroom as Prince Jon deliberated, a muscle conspicuously twitching at his jaw. At last he replied, but not without an impatient and notable sharp edge to his voice, "Fine—call your witness."

"Thank you." Though it seemed that he might have been speaking to Prince Jon, it was Elsa whom Gregor looked at as he spoke.

Gregor left the High Council's corner and stepped onto the open floor across which Prince Josef had treaded all day long. Josef now looked at him quizzically.

"As this is my witness, I believe it is my right to examine him. You may feel free to chime in from the High Council's corner. If you want, you may even use my chair. I left it quite warm for you," said Gregor.

The audience clearly saw the humor in Gregor's comment as a few chuckles and giggles erupted simultaneously across the large room. By the sneer on Prince Josef's face as he passed Gregor, Elsa could see he clearly did not care for his brother's comedy.

"Very well," said Gregor, facing the audience. "For our next witness, I would like to call Officer Jenssen."

From the very last bench, all the way at the back of the courtroom, a man wearing the official forest green uniform of Arendelle's guards stood. The wooden pews creaked as torsos and heads began to turn slowly and curiously in his direction. Officer Jenssen made his way to the front of the courtroom, removing his hat and first bowing to Prince Jon, the High Council, and to the people seated in the witness corner before approaching the witness stand.

Elsa recognized his face. She had seen it often around her own palace, knew he'd been part of the guard that had come with her to the Southern Isles, but had very little recollection of any interaction with him. She had delegated the duty of overseeing the guards to Kai, who in turn reported any new developments to her. To say she was confused was an understatement: Elsa could hardly begin to imagine what sort of business Gregor could have with one of her own guards.

Hans seemed just as baffled as she did. He looked to Gregor for answers. Elsa followed his gaze and found that Gregor suddenly radiated a sort of energy that rejuvenated him. He had gained a newfound confidence that lit up his face in a way that Elsa hadn't known until now.

As she looked from one brother to the other, Elsa thought she could detect that silent communication between siblings that she and Anna already knew so well. One seemed to ask, "What are you up to?" while the other seemed to say, "Just trust me."

That Gregor seemed to have something up his sleeve which even Hans didn't know anything about rekindled the flame of curiosity in her. In spite of the dread and anxiety the testimonies had instilled in her all day, she sat up straighter, her attention refreshed and tuned acutely to Gregor.

Officer Jenssen took the stand and Gregor turned to him. "Please raise your right hand and state your full name."

"Officer Lars Jenssen."

As Gregor continued with the swearing in, Elsa's focus was disrupted for a moment by a feeling that tugged at her insides like a child tugging at his mother's skirt for attention. She had the odd sensation that there was something she was supposed to know or remember about Officer Jenssen, but she couldn't begin placing her finger on it.

"Officer Jenssen," Gregor began, "you were present the night of the attacks of North Mountain, is that correct?"

"Yes, Your Highness," said Jenssen.

"Could you please tell us, in your own words, what happened that night?"

"Yes, of course." He shifted in his seat slightly and his eyes seemed to search the room, finding focus, his eyebrows meeting in the center thoughtfully. Elsa couldn't see below the barrier around the witness stand, but from the slight movement of his arms she could tell he was fidgeting with his hat in his hands. She found herself envying this, and wondered briefly what it would be like to have a nervous tick that could easily be channeled into an insignificant object, instead of the explosive and deadly form her own nerves took whenever her emotions were heightened.

"Well," Officer Jenssen began. "Princess Anna had been gone all day after having left the night before in search of her sister Queen Elsa. She'd left Prince Hans in charge and we were helping him tend to the people of Arendelle. The winter that had come down upon us was vicious and everyone was quite unprepared…"

Her curiosity dimmed a little as Officer Jenssen mentioned the disastrous winter that had almost destroyed her beloved kingdom. She turned her gaze down, just as she had every single time another one of the witnesses had brought it up. Whether her people were still holding her responsible for almost obliterating the whole nation or not didn't matter—she felt guilty enough on her own to feel the shame for the rest of her life.

"It was at that time that Princess Anna's horse came running out of nowhere without Her Highness and everyone took great concern, Prince Hans included. He asked for volunteers to help find her. I was the first to volunteer, so he put me in charge of preparing our men for the trip. Some of the other guards and myself suited up and we set off for the North Mountain. He asked me to ride alongside him and be his guide, as I was far more familiar with the land than he was.

"We traveled all day, but it wasn't until late evening that we came upon an ice castle. It was like nothing we had ever seen before, so it was safe to assume it was where Her Majesty was hiding. Prince Hans gave us instructions to find the Princess and that no harm should come to the Queen."

"Did Prince Hans said that?" asked Gregor.

"Yes, Your Highness."

"Those very words?" Gregor pressed on.

"Yes, Your Highness."

An undisputable glimmer shone in Gregor's eyes. "Proceed."

Elsa glanced at Hans from the corner of her eye. He seemed once again to be mostly apathetic, otherwise surrounded by a general air of hopelessness. It was hard to imagine him mustering any actual concern for her life that night—that the stone-cold man that stood only paces from her could at any point in time truly have had her best interests at heart. Why Gregor would think that it mattered that Hans had said that no harm should come to her, she didn't know. To her, it was simply more proof that Hans was an exceptional actor.

"A great beast arose from the snow. At least twenty feet tall and strong as an army all on its own. A creation from the Queen, I suppose, to dissuade us from going any further. It put up a good fight—Prince Hans himself was almost a casualty of that attack. Luckily, we managed to defeat it."

Her attention snapped back to Officer Jenssen. The previous shame she had felt returned, trickling cold inside her. The irony wasn't lost on her that just as she had been mentally condemning Hans once more, she was again reminded of her own abrasive missteps when attempting to defend herself.

"So we went up into the castle and that was when we encountered the Queen battling two of the Duke's—sorry—the ex-Duke's guards," Jenssen continued.

"Can you describe the scene as you remember it?" asked Gregor.

"Well, the Queen had her back to us, but with her hands—or not with her actual hands per se, but with the, uh, force emitted from her hands," Jenssen raised his own hands above the barrier holding them out at his sides, fingers spread out, "she was keeping one guard pinned against the wall with icicles and with the other hand—"

Officer Janssen threw a quick guarded glance in Elsa's direction.

"Go on," said Gregor.

Officer Jenssen's Adam's apple shifted as he fixated his gaze on a vague point in front of him. "Well, the other guard was about to be, uh, pushed off the edge of the broken down balcony…"

Elsa turned her gaze down to her lap. _The other guard was about to be pushed off…_ Officer Jenssen's use of the passive voice did nothing to alleviate her own self-torment. He could phrase it any way he wanted to; she would always be the subject in everyone's mind when recalling that moment—particularly and most poignantly in her own.

"Anything else?" asked Gregor.

Officer Jenssen's brow creased as if he were in pain. "Well, Her Majesty seemed determined, just from what I could see…"

"Determined to what?"

Elsa squeezed one hand in the other.

"For what it's worth," Officer Jenssen said before answering Gregor's question, "I think she was acting in self-defense. I think anyone with the same amount of power who found themselves in the same position and was tired of feeling persecuted would have wanted to end it all, by any means available."

There was a short moment of silence in which everyone awaited Gregor's follow up question and Elsa listened to her own short breaths.

"Are you saying that's what Queen Elsa was attempting to do?" Gregor finally asked. "Do you believe she wanted to end the Duke's guards?"

Elsa suddenly understood. This was Gregor's tactic. He was going to take her off the victim pedestal and expose her to everyone as no better than a criminal—no better than Hans. Once the people saw how easily it was to get carried away by a surge of desperation and power, once they understood that even Elsa could be capable of murder, they would have to forgive Hans.

And yet, at the very cusp of being branded a heartless would-be murderer, Elsa couldn't find it in her to hate Gregor. After all, he wasn't wrong.

Officer Jenssen gave no more than a half nod.

Before proceeding, Gregor stopped a moment to catch Elsa's eye. She in turn found no viciousness there, no trace of smugness. Instead the same old gentle and patient lines she'd known from that first night settled into his weary expression. Though it surprised her, she thought she understood: she was wrong; he wasn't there to judge her.

"What stopped her?" Gregor said, turning back to Officer Jenssen.

"His Highness, Prince Hans, spoke to her. He said something like… 'You're not a monster,' or, 'Don't be the monster they think you are'—I'm sorry, I don't remember precisely; it all happened so fast…"

It may not have been clear to Officer Jenssen, but the memory flashed in Elsa's mind as fresh as if it had just occurred. She remembered the way the chaos in her mind had quieted down, how the burning rage inside her melted away, the haziness of her vision coming back into focus.

He had done that. When her own sister had failed in bringing her back to herself, _he_ had succeeded. She had never quite stopped to wonder why until now. Perhaps she had avoided the question for fear of the answer. It was shameful to admit, now, that back then the sound of his voice had been trigger enough to soothe her nerves.

"Her Majesty ceased. If you ask me, when she turned around she looked frightened. Tired, even. Later we found but those two guards had gone up there with orders from the Duke of Wesselton to kill her…"

"What happened after she desisted?" Gregor pressed.

"One of the Duke's guards—the one pinned to the wall with icicles—he made one last attempt to shoot his crossbow at the Queen but Prince Hans stopped him. He ran over to him and managed to push the crossbow out of the way just in time. But then the arrow instead hit the rod of the chandelier above and it came crashing down, almost killing Her Majesty."

She listened in a sort of daze, as if he were narrating scenes from a story she'd heard as a child but had forgotten over time. The images came up as if from a dream she'd once had—a voice without sound seemed to whisper inside her head…

_A shower of crystals._

Gregor nodded. "What happened after the chandelier fell?"

"Honestly, we thought Her Majesty was dead. She was passed out amid a sea of glass. His Highness Prince Hans forbid anyone to touch her and instead approached her himself. He…" Officer Jenssen squinted at his memory. "He kneeled beside her and checked for a pulse. After a second, he announced that she was still alive and ordered Arendelle's guards to seize the Duke's guard, and ordered me to gather our troop for the trip back."

Gregor was staring fixedly at the floor. Though his furrowed brow hinted at him being in deep concentration, something about his vague fixation on the floor, of all things, seemed to say that he wasn't particularly impressed with Officer Jenssen's story. Or at least, that he wasn't there for the purpose of listening to it himself, but to ensure everyone else did. He was simply there to get the ball rolling.

"What else?" he prodded.

"His Highness picked the Queen up from the floor, and sternly rejected any offer for help. Once outside, he asked me to help him pull Queen Elsa onto his horse. He made it quite clear that he wasn't going to allow anyone near her. I suppose after what happened with the Duke's guards, he didn't trust anyone else. So he carried her the whole way himself."

Elsa's head snapped in his direction.

"That's how we made the whole trip back. We were exhausted, numb from the cold, starving, our horses moving slowly—but His Highness wouldn't allow us to stop. He was determined to make it back by morning. So we treaded all night through fields of complete whiteness, dense with snow, most of our lamps gone out—"

As Officer Jenssen continued, fragmented visions kept flashing in her mind faster and faster each time…

_An endless white landscape. A horse's mane. _

"But His Highness never once complained. Never once asked for help. He trudged on as steadily as the rest of us, perhaps even more determined than the rest of us, carrying the unconscious queen with him… I suppose he felt accountable and so he made it his responsibility to get Her Majesty back to the palace as safe as possible."

_A firm surface, warm and gray, on which she rested her head._

Her lips grew cold, numb.

"When we were back at the castle, he ordered the Duke's guards to be detained until he could get to the bottom of their actions. In the meantime, he carried the Queen to another cell, the Duke himself and the Dignitaries following him, though keeping their distance, as if His Highness were carrying some form of delicate explosive in his arms and not a woman made of flesh and blood."

There was a slight biting edge to his tone, as if Jenssen were seizing his one chance to snap back at the higher authorities and their prejudices. Under any other circumstances, Elsa would have appreciated Officer Jenssen's small gesture, but as it was, her mind was too laden with confusion to properly acknowledge it.

"He ordered me to bring him a blanket and a pillow to the Queen's cell, which I did. I ran into the castle and asked one of the servants to fetch it for me, and then ran back to the cell and handed it to Prince Hans, who was in the middle of a heated discussion with the Duke."

Gregor at last looked up, hands clasped at his back. He asked as casually and naturally as if Jenssen had been doing no more than reciting his multiplication tables. Such was his confidence at that moment that his follow up question might as well have been "And what is two times four?" knowing full well neither he nor Jenssen could get the answer wrong.

"And what was the discussion about?"

"I believe the Duke was furious that he'd brought Her Majesty back. He seemed scared, although, of what exactly I'm not sure, seeing as Her Majesty remained unconscious and the worst she had done was bring winter out of time. Prince Hans rebuked him and reminded him that she was still the Queen, and that he wasn't about to go against Princess Anna's orders."

Elsa's heart seemed to be simultaneously pounding both too fast and too slowly.

"After I handed Prince Hans the things he had asked for, he dismissed me. I went back to my regular post and I knew no more until the winter was over."

"Thank you, Jenssen," said Gregor. And turning in Elsa's direction, at last with the complacent smile she had been anticipating, he said, "That will be all."

"Gregor," said Prince Jon harshly, "would you care to explain what the point of this is? Because it seems to me like you've just wasted a great deal of our time."

Gregor turned to Prince Jon calmly, but when he spoke his voice dripped with disdain. "I'm sorry, what about this young officer's testimony are you having trouble understanding? The part where Prince Hans saved Queen Elsa from death once or the part where he took good enough care of her to return her to Arendelle in one piece? Was it perhaps the part where it is obvious Prince Hans had not intended to murder the Queen until he saw no other way out of the winter that was slowly burying Arendelle alive?"

"For Heaven's sakes, this man's testimony proves nothing!" Jon cried.

Prince Josef echoed the sentiment. "It proves absolutely nothing."

"It proves that Prince Hans did not attempt premeditated murder. His actions were an act of desperation!"

Prince Gregor, Prince Jon and Prince Josef continued to argue while Elsa sat unmoving at the witness corner, stoic, trapped in a trance she couldn't snap out of.

Hans's voice echoed through her mind, crisp and tangible, as if he were speaking the words to her right in that moment.

_"It was never meant to be this complicated."_

A reel of visions flashed across her mind faster than she could keep up: The chandelier falling; blurry white glimpses of a snow covered landscape; the bright yellow mane of Sitron weaving in and out of sight. His soft gray coat, warm and fuzzy against her cheek. And the touch—the fingers she could still feel so vividly yet so gently tracing her skin.

It wasn't until Officer Jenssen was dismissed and Prince Jon had called her to the witness stand that she was able to move, still in a fluid state of delirium.

As she crossed paths with the officer, an impulsive whim made her catch him by the arm. The rusty wheel of an old forgotten memory finally clicked into place.

Officer Jenssen bowed his head. "Your Majesty."

It was only now that Elsa realized how shallowly she was breathing.

"What did you say your name was?" she asked him.

"Jenssen, Your Majesty," the young man replied.

"No," she said. "Your given name."

"Lars, Your Majesty. Just Lars."

Elsa only released him because her fingers around his arm had gone limp. She hardly noticed as Lars bowed once more and continued on his way. She was caught by the sudden stirring of feelings inside her, which she had never quite felt coalesce: her state was one of shock, and incredulity. But most prominently she felt as though something like a burst of dazzling bright lights was flashing into her mind, blinding her but at the same time filling her up with an unexpected warmth she had only felt once before in what she had believed to have been a dream.


	10. Chapter 7: Part 4

SEVEN

Part 4

"Please raise your right hand and state your name."

"Elsa of Arendelle, Queen of Arendelle."

Her reply was automatic. What her mouth said and what was going through her mind at that particular moment rested on two completely different sides of the spectrum. She felt as in a sort of trance. A sort of overload of information was short-circuiting her brain. She could hardly think clearly through the fog of thoughts that clouded her mind.

"Queen Elsa of Arendelle, do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

Elsa didn't reply. She hardly blinked, unable to tear her eyes from the cause of this tornado of confusion she had been tossed into.

And he stared right back, unperturbed—calm in his certainty that he understood all the questions she was sure were etched on her face; questions that she screamed in her mind and only he could hear.

"Queen Elsa," Prince Josef said again. He stood in the space between her and Hans, interrupting their contact. "Do you swear to tell the truth the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

The truth? Elsa didn't know what the truth was anymore. Once a thing of solidity, it now expanded, like water spreading over dirt, absorbing all in its path and turning gray. Who was to say what truth was and what wasn't? Who on this earth could possess the jurisdiction to sort out through the tangled mess of life and pick out what was truth and what was a lie, what was acceptable and what was unforgivable?

What makes a saint and what makes a sinner?

Why, when finally untangled, life was just one long string fading in parts from black to gray to white.

"Queen Elsa?"

Prince Josef's voice was a far and distant echo. From where she sat, only the sound of her breathing was real.

And those eyes. Those unyielding, unfathomable green eyes.


	11. Chapter 7: Part 5

**A/N:** Okay guys, this is the chapter that had me stumped for like 6 months. Hopefully, I'll be able to post more regularly now that I've OFFICIALLY finished writing this fic and my beta and I are just putting in the finishing touches. Not promising because, you know, life. But I'm 95% sure posts will be coming more often now.

Shout out to my awesome beta **flubbergutter** and the awesome work she does for this fic!

Alrighty, hope you guys enjoy!

(Oh, before I forget: The lyrics at the beginning of this chapter are from a song by Chris Issak, BUT the version that absolutely floored me and helped me write parts of this fic is the one by James Vincent McMorrow. Go listen to it; it's amazing!)

**SEVEN**

**Part 5**

_The world was on fire and no one could save me but you._

_It__'s strange what desire will make foolish people do._

_-_Chris Issak, _Wicked Game_

_ Prince Hans wasn__'t the sort of man to live in self-denial. In spite of his duplicitous disposition—one of which he was artfully aware—he maintained no illusions about himself. He knew what he was: conniving, calculative, cold and self-serving. Or at least this is what he imagined people would say to him if they ever saw him for what he really was. But it didn't bother him. That he showed one face to the world and another to his mirror was of no great consequence to him. This was how he got by, his means of survival. So long as the man in the mirror remained real, all else could go down in flames. It was his only request of himself. _

_And yet, in spite of his necessity to always be clear with himself in his own intentions, he could never fully own up to the single deep breath he released when he'd kneeled upon the crystal strewn floor and felt the Queen's pulse beat steadily against his fingers._

_He could claim that killing the Queen had never been part of the original plan. That he hadn't set off to Arendelle sharpening his sword or mixing lethal poisons. That not until late on the night of the coronation did he actually begin to consider it at all. That even as he arrived at the ice castle some part of him had still been holding on to hope that he wouldn't have to go through with it._

_He could even argue that it had been an impulse to shoot down the chandelier. In his lifetime he'd pulled off quite a few anarchistic acts, but murder had yet to find itself on the list. So, naturally, his relief must've come from finding that he had failed his first attempt._

_Still, this answer did not satisfy him. A twinge, like a single fingernail scratching at his insides, persisted, letting him know he was simply rimming the truth. There was more than just shallow egotistic relief in that breath he let out. There was also guilt._

_It wasn't just that he hadn't become a murderer, it was that he hadn't murdered _her_. It was that he'd regretted his move almost as simultaneously as he had executed it. He might as well have been standing beneath the crystal behemoth as it plunged down just paces behind the queen, for he'd felt the weight of what he had done crash down upon him._

_It might have been the infernal blast of the chandelier bursting into a hundred million pieces that made him second-guess his move, or the ominous silence that preceded it, which seemed to stretch time right out of its bounds._

_Perhaps it had been the tiny gasp she'd emitted—that single frail whimper before the ear-shattering blast. Or had the twinge in his chest come after the sight of her unconscious body delicately slumped over a sea of shattered ice?_

_Whenever the initial twinge of guilt had occurred, the fact remained that the reality of Queen Elsa's death didn't please him quite as much as he thought it would. He couldn't even try to lie to himself as the twinge resurfaced again and again with every cut he discovered on her lily white skin—tiny scarlet kisses left there by a Death who mocked him as it floated away. _

_This was not the way things were supposed to go. Not that he'd given much thought to how things _were_ supposed to go. He'd sailed to Arendelle blindly and admittedly unprepared. He'd naively imagined sweeping the Queen off her feet without ever stopping a moment to consider how he would do it when he'd never even seen a picture of her face. _

_He had known nothing about her and even his attempts at some preemptive research had come up dry. Of the people he had surveyed in hopes of gaining some insight, no one had been able to say anything with concrete certainty about her. _

_They had heard she was beautiful and graceful, that she took mostly after her father, that she was a quiet ruler and was hardly ever spotted outside of the palace. But no one had been able to tell him about the quiet, calculated movement of her hands. No one had been able to mention the timid smile that never quite reached her eyes. No one seemed to really know about, or perhaps they'd never noticed, the quiet desperation that filtered through the artificial gleam in her eyes the moments she found herself alone._

_Call it a gift or a learned means of self-preservation, but Hans had acquired from early in his life the ability to read people from the smallest of gestures. One afternoon of keen observation of the Queen and he'd been able to tell how very uncomfortable she was with the whole social ordeal of her coronation. At moments he feared that, were he to take his eye off of her for a second, she might scuttle away into some hidden corner of the palace, never to be seen again by any of the guests. He would have to act quickly if he hoped to make a single chip in the ice that night._

_However, his attempts at winning her attention had quickly fizzled—crashed and burned like a kite on a windless day. In one short exchange Hans had received the measure of her. It took him no time to deduce that he would be wasting his time and energy on her. _

_He knew that to try and push the Queen would only cause her to become more alert and distant and to retreat farther behind her walls. She had a practiced, fearless way of shutting people down, a stone-like disposition which Hans knew better than anyone—having encountered it previously in so many of his brothers—was not to be tampered with. One prick from her sharp gaze was all it had taken for him to know that she would rebuff any attempt to be subdued with the obstinacy of a bull._

_She was too clever for her own good, too analytical and inherently skeptical. The Queen of Arendelle would never fall blindly—logic and common sense must come first. One thousand nights would not be enough to make her fall for him, let alone a single evening. It would be simpler for him to retreat._

_However, her obstinacy would cost her. Though Hans gave up all hope of executing his original plan, he had by no means given up on the idea of acquiring the kingdom of Arendelle for himself. And he, like her, could be just as obstinate. So he walked away from her that evening, off to implement Plan B—__a plan he__'d only briefly and dimly entertained and which he'd hoped he wouldn't have to execute._

_He couldn't say he wasn't disappointed. He couldn't lie to himself even back then, because even as he spun her giggling sister across the dancefloor, his gaze had wandered almost compulsively in her direction for the rest of the night._

You were supposed to dance, _he thought as he lifted her body off the floor. It surprised him how corporeal she felt. It was as though he'd leaned over to pick up what he'd known to be a lifeless doll, only to find __she was a real person. He ignored the strange stirring inside him as he felt her dimensions in his arms, her supple flesh beneath her clothes, her warm and steady breath against his neck. _

_ He had thought her beautiful from the very first time he__'d set eyes on her—that was another undeniable truth, and one he didn't mind admitting. Yes, he might be conniving and __calculati__ng, but he wasn't blind or completely out of touch with the more bohemian aspects of life. He knew great beauty when he saw it; he could even let it touch him enough to acknowledge it. He'd never let it so far in as to let it cloud his rationality, but he could savor it like candy on his tongue without letting it overwhelm him._

_He__'d secretly thanked his lucky stars as the Queen entered the cathedral and he saw her for the first time. Of all the faces he'd imagined her to possess, of all the features he'd mentally arranged on a blank palette, hers were far more perfect than any he could've ever imagined. Considering all the worst case scenarios he'd thought up (one which included someone with Jon's build and facial hair), he came short of patting himself on the back, high on his lucky streak. Being tied to such a beauty for the rest of his life would certainly lessen the burden of having to marry someone out of convenience. _

_ But he hadn__'t felt the true risk of contemplating her beauty until now—now as he carried her with him on his horse, now as lose strands of her hair brushed and tickled his face. Before she had seemed a thing of fiction, a side character in a story he'd only known the superficies of. Not until he'd tried to end her life had she finally become bluntly and intrusively real. It was all he could do to keep himself distracted by playing guessing games with the scent of her hair._

_ He __should have known, the moment he set his eyes upon her that day in the cathedral, that it was all too good to be true, that it was all working out too well. He should have known, even as he resigned himself to settle for Princess Anna, that things were bound to take an unexpected turn. When in his entire life had something worked out his way? No matter how hard he had worked at achieving something, his brothers had always managed to thwart his attempts. He almost wondered how Jon had managed to bestow ice powers on the Queen—as if her affliction could only be a result of his attempts to destroy every one of __Hans' chances of getting ahead._

_ He had been stupid__ to let himself hope. He should have known the moment he barged into the ice castle and stopped the Queen from killing the Duke's guards that he had let himself become almost pathetically wishy-washy with hope._

_ He __should have just let her kill them. It was a thought that circled around in his head as he trudged slowly through the dense snow with the Queen in his arms. He should have let her bury herself. It would have been so much simpler, so much neater. Why did he have to barge in there and stop her from committing the one act he could have used against her? Of all the stupid, impulsive things he'd ever done—why had he stopped her?_

_ He could feel the truth sinking inside him as if it were a__live and had buried itself inside his chest, now__hiding __guiltily__ somewhere in the spaces of his ribcage. He could feel it attempting to bury itself deeper inside him—a feat that caused considerable pain and discomfort—as he allowed himself just for a moment to gaze at the queen nestled into his torso, pale gold strands of hair dancing across her face, her eyelids with their bristly lashes closed in a deep sleep, like an innocent and unsuspecting child._

_ It was exactly what he had seen when he__'d walked in on her in her castle about to finish off the two guards: an innocent little girl cornered in an emerald room, face white with terror—possessing the power to annihilate his entire kingdom but instead quivering apologetically from the farthest corner of that room._

_ It would be too simple to say that the Queen had had the advantage, that she had the power to finish the two guards with a simple flick of her wrist. The vision of that little girl convinced Hans that just like that time, many years ago, the Queen was simply once again trapped, exhibiting a display of powers she__'d only ever been forced to use in self-defense. He knew this was not a choice that little girl would ever have willingly made. This wasn't a road that silently suffering Queen he'd met the night of the ball would willingly take._

_ Who could know this better than he? Who would ever willingly choose to be conniving, calculative, cold and self-serving? Only someone who grew up and lived in constant fear. For those without supernatural powers__, their methods of self-defense must develop in other ways. But in the end it was all the same._

_ The words had burst from his mouth before he__'d had a chance to process them._

_"__Queen Elsa__—__don__'t be the monster they fear you are!"_

_ The moment she__'d turned to look at him she softened, guilt visibly flooding her face and he'd known…_

_ He had faltered. His __carefully cultivated, calculating ways had failed him. He had, for the very first time in many years, been driven by an instinct he almost didn't recognize. For the first time since his childhood he'd acted on an impulse to help rather than to harm or self-protect. It was as if he had reverted to that eight year old version of himself—thinking only of the consequences of her actions, fearing more for her misfortune rather than his, grabbing her by the arm and pushing her out of harm's way._

_ It was this recognition of his own character faltering that propelled his next impulse__—to break the hinge of the chandelier and crush the Queen with it. He was angry with himself for having let the opportunity to frame her slip away. But in all honesty, he was angrier for allowing some stupid instinct to dictate his actions, for having, no matter for how fleeting a moment, let his guard down._

_ Of course that hadn__'t lasted long. The instant the chandelier began to fall, that instinct—that infernal twinge he couldn't seem to shake off—had come right back even stronger than before, following him all the way back to the palace, interrupting every attempt he made to plan his next move._

_Later, as he placed the Queen on the cot in the dungeon, he was overcome by an uncontrollable urge to laugh. The Duke had warned (or threatened; he still wasn't sure) that they would all regret bringing her back. He clearly wanted her gone, dead or alive. The people of Arendelle feared her; her own guards—the very people hired to protect her—were terrified of coming near her. He himself had already tried once to end her, and yet here he was, placing a pillow beneath her head, making her as comfortable as possible._

_ There was so much he already regretted about this, it was laughable. He had come here to acquire an army by means of acquiring a throne by means of marrying into royalty. So far all he__'d managed was to become the Queen's personal handmaid._

_ He had no one to blame but himself. Yes, the reveal of the Queen__'s powers had been a twist he never could've foreseen, but in the one opportunity he'd had to gain the advantage,__he had slipped up. That he would end up aiding the Queen and thusly sabotage his own plans had been a twist even the best clairvoyant would never have seen coming._

_ He unfurled the blanket and pulled it gently over her body so that she was covered to her shoulders. He bent down on one knee as he adjusted the blanket over her and caught a close up of her lovely face as an eyelid gently quivered._

_ Even in her deepest sleep the Queen appeared sad. Her brow furrowed just a touch and the corners of her mouth turned down just slightly enough to evoke that hidden distress that seemed to filter through all her forced smiles the night of her coronation._

What a waste_, he thought, admiring the Queen Elsa's face without apprehension. It was such a pity that so much beauty should go unappreciated over what seemed almost a technicality. _

_ There, alone in the cell, with no one but just himself to judge him or call him soft and weak, he allowed his thoughts to flow freely._

_ He didn__'t want to have to kill her. As he gazed at her the wheels in his brain turned forward and backward, searching for the loophole, that indiscernible alternative that he knew must exist and that would keep him from having to end her life. Again, he was foolishly hopeful. He wished that he hadn't come to Arendelle burdened by the weight of a kingdom in peril. That he had been born under the right stars and been able to meet her under different circumstances. That he might spend a thousand nights trying to pull from her lips that smile that seemed so elusive. He wished that he had been born into a different family, under a different name—to change the very genetics that presently made up his being. _

How did you creep so far in so quickly? _he__ wondered, as a rogue strand of hair fluttered against her nose with her shallow breath. He never quite registered the hand he'd lifted to drag the lock away from her face, as if it had been a gesture he'd performed a thousand times before, a muscle instinct that needn't raise any alarms._

"_Forgive me," __he muttered. __"It was never meant to be this complicated."_

_He felt like a pitiful fool, but here in the solitary confinements of this cell, he allowed it. Here where no one could judge him, where it was him alone with his conscience. Here he could allow himself some room, just this once, to be pitiful._

_He was amazed at all she had stirred in him just by sitting in his arms for a few of hours. What would have happened had they met under circumstances where she wasn'__t __weighed down by her powers, and he wasn't tied to his duties to his kingdom and the burden of his family? What would have happened had circumstances allowed them to have their dance?_

_Still, reality was what it was. He had been born into a storyline that did not make room for happy endings. There would be no white horses, no true love's kiss or happily ever afters for them. In his world, hopes and dreams were nothing more than distractions that simply got in the way of survival. If you weren't careful, they could cost you your life. The reality was that Elsa would never and should never know that inside him lived a boy who wished he'd grown up to be the kind of man she deserved—the kind of man that could walk into her kingdom, fall madly in love and pursue her without pretenses and __double agendas._

_Perhaps in another lifetime. But never in this one._

_When he was a small boy, on days he had been brutally hounded by his brothers, his mother would always say to him, "Harden yourself, Hans. Be strong. In the face of adversity we must turn our back on our suffering and show only our toughest side. Never let them know they've gotten to you."_

_Whatever it was that Elsa had started in him, he must quickly turn it off, tear it at the roots. He must deaden himself to her beauty, to the curiosity which her downturned gaze, muted smiles and quiet gestures had kindled in him. The Queen may be beautiful, and he may spend many nights hereafter wondering about their unintended lives, but it wasn't enough to deter him from his ultimate goal. _

_Above all things, Hans was tired of losing, of having to bite his tongue and bow down to his brothers, of living in fear. The time had come to turn the tables on them. Besides, he had already come too far to turn back. If he ever wished to return to the Southern Isles and walk its streets in broad daylight as a free man, then he must finish what he'd come to Arendelle to do._

_He__ had left the Queen's side with more determination than he had felt since his arrival. He could not, _wouldnot_ let the silly nuisances of the heart distract him from what he needed to do._

_If the moment—__no, _when_—when the moment came to terminate the Queen, he would need to forget the feel of her body in his arms, the scent of heathers in her hair, the woman whose eyes pleaded like the child in that emerald room so many years ago. He would need to silence that quiet voice inside his head that kept referring to her as _Elsa_, the way his over-eager tongue itched to pronounce her name._

_She was the Queen and nothing more. _

_When the twinge in his chest resurfaced, he wrapped his fingers firmly around the hilt of his sword._

Conceal, don't feel_, he said to himself. _Don't let it show.


	12. Chapter 7: Part 6

**A/N: **Just wanna pop in real quick to thank everyone who's followed, reviewed and read this fic so far! You guys really make my day! On another quick note, this is the last part of Chapter 7 and in my next post we will resume at Chapter 8!

Shout out to my beta **flubbergutter** for the awesome work she does editing this fic!

Okay, you guys, that's it for now. Take care and enjoy! :) 

**SEVEN**

Part 6

"_But who prays for Satan? Who, in eighteen centuries, has had the common humanity to pray for the one sinner that needed it most?__" _

Mark Twain

Every single eye in the courtroom was turned towards Elsa. Every single gaze was steady and unblinking. A sort of tunnel vision had taken over the audience, pinpointing the queen as their singular focus. To Elsa, however, they were currently nothing more than the blurry backdrop of an impressionist painting. She, too had in the last few minutes been overcome with a similar tunnel-sighted affliction, except that she was being held in a trance by someone else entirely.

It was Prince Jon's gruff voice that finally snapped her back to reality.

"Queen Elsa," he said, his booming voice startling her.

Elsa blinked and looked up at him, disoriented.

"Please answer Prince Josef's question."

Elsa frowned as she turned back to Prince Josef. "I'm sorry—what was the question?"

Prince Josef closed his eyes for a split second—a poor attempt at withholding impatience—and reiterated, "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

Her eyes impulsively flickered in Hans' direction. Quickly turning her gaze to the floor, she swallowed before answering, "I do."

"Very well, Your Majesty," said Prince Josef, "if you could please tell us, in your own words, what happened on the day of your coronation."

Elsa looked up at him. "Where should I start?"

"Anywhere that you feel is most relevant, Your Majesty. Perhaps the first time you met Prince Hans?"

Elsa nodded meagerly, pressing her lips together. She searched her memories for a second, hands clasped tightly on her lap.

"I met Prince Hans … the night of the Coronation Ball …"

And then her words trailed off.

She could see him so clearly approaching her, bowing to her; the shining auburn hair, the dimpled smiled, his perfect form and all his cordiality as he requested a dance. The shiver that crossed her that night seemed to travel through time and cross her again now as she sat in the witness stand.

She looked up at the courtroom full of people, all silent as if bounded by a spell, more attentive now than they had been all day. They leaned forward in their seats, awaiting with visible anticipation the full account of how her life was almost taken by the man who stood across her. How was she supposed to look at them and admit that in a moment of human weakness she had thought Prince Hans galant and handsome, and had regretted for most of the evening not having accepted his offer to dance? How was she supposed to own up in front of everyone that she had later envied her sister for once again attaining all that she could never have?

Certainly she didn't have to confess to all of that, but how could she swear to tell the whole truth and yet leave out details that she deemed pivotal?

"Queen Elsa?"

Elsa's eyes snapped back to Prince Josef, who watched her bemusedly.

"You met Prince Hans the night of the Coronation Ball … and then?"

Her brow furrowed. "I'm sorry … that's not true."

"It isn't?"

"No—I actually met Prince Hans many years ago here in the Southern Isles when we were children. My family was here for Prince Hugo's wedding and …" She looked at Hans as the memory of the boy crying behind the rose bushes resurfaced in her mind. He didn't turn away. In fact, he seemed determined not to falter in his gaze. But somehow, by the slightest twitch of his jaw, she knew he was thinking of it too and trying his hardest not to show the slightest hint of caring. "I'm sorry … it was such a long time ago, I have very little recollection of it."

Prince Josef stared at her for a long second. "Well, that's quite all right. Why don't we fast forward a bit? Go ahead and tell us about the attack on North Mountain and the events that followed."

An alarm seemed to sound off inside of her. Beneath her skin, nerves awakened—all on their guard. She felt as though her very bones were vibrating and wondered whether anyone could tell. Her breathing came in shallow spurts now, her foot bobbing madly under her chair.

"I … well, the guards came and …"

"The Duke of Wesselton's guards?"

"Yes," said Elsa, trying to control her breathing. "They aimed their crossbows at me and—"

A sudden heat rose to her head and she squeezed her eyes shut—a habit carried on from her childhood, from lonely days locked up in her room wishing she could disappear.

"I never intended to hurt them …" she spurted out, the space between her eyebrows crinkling. "I was cornered … no matter how I begged they wouldn't let up and I …"

"We all know you acted in self-defense, Your Majesty. There's no need to concern yourself with that," Prince Josef reassured her. Still, he threw a furtive, amused glance in Jon's direction.

Elsa remembered the heat, the surge of power that had taken over her, the obstinate desire to show the Duke's guards how it felt to be deemed insignificant, to hurt them and bring them to the very brink of fear the way they had done with her … how could she ignore the glaring fact that she herself had once attempted murder?

"What happened after?" asked Prince Josef.

Elsa searched her scrambled memory. All she found was Prince Hans standing behind her shouting, _"__Queen Elsa__—__don__'t be the monster they fear you are!"_

She was visibly shivering in her seat now. She clasped her hands tightly on her lap and clenched her jaw to stop her teeth from clattering. She reminded herself that she needed to focus on calming her nerves before she went and turned the courtroom into an igloo. However, the need to attain calm quickly, taking into consideration the suffocating pressure she was currently under, only heightened her anxiety.

But it was more than nerves and anxiety causing her to react this way. A big part of it came from the self-restraint she was employing, not just to keep her powers under control but to keep herself from climbing down the witness stand, cutting across to where Hans stood, seizing him by the shoulders and shaking him as hard as she possibly could. His lack of reaction more than stumped her—it aggravated her. She had an endless amount of questions to which only he held all the answers. It drove her to the edge of her sanity just to think that there was no force on the planet that could ever bring him to give them to her—that he stood across from her at that moment complacent, knowing he had her in the palm of his hand.

"Queen Elsa?" Prince Josef prompted.

Elsa's brow knitted with embarrassment. "I'm sorry."

"Not to worry," said Prince Josef, but not before letting out a deep breath. "Shall we talk about the events on the frozen fjord instead?"

She looked down at her hands, the palms covered in frost.

"Mr. Bjorgman during his testimony said he saw Prince Hans approach you, that there was an exchange of words. What did he say to you, Your Majesty?"

Elsa's mouth had gone completely dry. Her head throbbed right along with the pounding of her heart. Was she even breathing anymore? Beneath the soles of her shoes a sheet of ice covered the perimeter of the floor inside the witness stand.

"He said …" she began, her voice frail, barely audible past the first row of people.

In her peripheral vision, Elsa saw a woman in the front row of the audience wrap her shawl tighter around her.

"_Your sister is dead … because of you."_

_Her legs had given way under her and she had collapsed but hardly known it. In that moment the world itself had lost its realness. She existed only in the blinding, asphyxiating pain that seemed to consume her from the inside out. Vaguely, she remembered her hand flat against the thick white ice and the teardrop that had splattered across its back._

_The sound of his sword unsheathing cut through the frozen silence and she waited. _

She had waited.

God knows she could have stood, could have formed any array of weapons to fight back. She had already proven herself a worthy opponent once before. But when she heard the sound of metal scraping metal she knew perfectly well what it had meant. As the whole world pressed down on her she finally surrendered, waited simply for the relief only he could bring.

_She had closed her blurry eyes and waited_.

It was through blurry eyes that she watched the amassed crowd in the courtroom which had come today to hear the fragile queen's truth, come to hear how she had been wronged. They had not come to hear that she had coveted, urged to kill and finally waited to die. They wanted a golden hero, a martyr to turn into a goddess, not a ragged, flawed young woman laden with mortal weakness.

They also hoped for a villain to bury, someone into whom they could channel their own righteous anger—someone who had never wronged any of them personally but into whom they could substitute the face of those who had once wronged them. They didn't want a man who had been so beaten by life that he had been left no choice but to hide and shield himself with darkness for the rest of his life. They didn't want someone to feel sorry for. They didn't want someone to sympathize with.

If she allowed what they wanted to happen—if she allowed the belief that she was light without dark and Hans was dark without light endure—then she would not have upheld her promise to tell the truth. She would be doing the world a disfavor, keeping it cloaked in a lie instilled in their minds as children through fairytales and stories of good versus evil. She'd heard those same stories as a child and though she'd never admitted it to Gerta—who so faithfully came to her bedside every night to read to her—she had always sympathized with the villains. While the story progressed and the hero struggled against their respective antagonists, Elsa had wondered: What had made them that way? What circumstances in their lives had caused them to make such cruel, corrupted choices?

But not only had she sympathized with the villains, she had _identified_ with them. Surely a person who caused so much pain and destruction with their powers, accidentally or not, would be seen as the villain of their story. No one who posed a threat to the safety of others could ever be the hero.

It had taken her so many years just to understand that she wasn't the bad guy, and at the same time accept that perfection was unattainable. That she was a whole of two parts, one light and one dark.

Those fairytales had lied and all she knew at that moment was that she didn't want to be part of those lies anymore.

"Your Majesty?" said Prince Josef. He inclined his head so as to get a better look at her face.

"I'm sorry," said Elsa, for what she felt was the hundredth time that day. This time, however, she didn't mean it as an apology.

"Do you perhaps need a moment?" asked Prince Josef.

"No."

"Shall we proceed then?"

There was a small, silent pause before Elsa said, "No."

Prince Josef raised his head in confusion. "I beg your pardon?"

"I'm not going to continue with my testimony," said Elsa.

Prince Josef frowned looking up at Prince Jon. He treaded carefully as he spoke again. "I don't think that's an option."

"Well, I'm making it one."

The crowd that had been so deathly quiet mere seconds ago suddenly came to life, a general buzzing filling the room from wall to wall.

"We could continue tomorrow if you'd like," said Prince Jon.

"No, there's no point."

"Your Majesty—" Prince Josef began.

"There's no point," said Elsa firmly, raising her eyes to meet him with a fixing stare. She squeezed her hands into fists, the shivering subsiding, the ice beneath her seat receding. "What sense does it make for me to sit here and reiterate for the thousandth time the events of that day? For what purpose? We all know what happened. It seems to me like all we've been doing all day is going over the how, the where, the when and the who, but no one has stopped for a moment to ask _why._"

"Queen Elsa, do compose yourself. I understand it's been a highly stressful day for you. If you like we can have a short recess so you can have a drink of water and—" Prince Jon started.

"I don't need a drink of water or a recess," Elsa said curtly. "I will not give my testimony. I will not repeat once more that Prince Hans came into my kingdom, deceived us, left my sister for dead and then attempted to murder me."

Elsa stood up and for the first time found that Hans' expression had changed. His brow was slightly furrowed, intrigued but too proud to show it. He had not been expecting this.

Elsa found strength in this. It felt good for once to be the one holding all the answers.

"I will say this," she began, placing her hand on the barrier beside her, digging her fingers into it for reassurance. "I don't know why it is that Prince Hans acted the way he did—whether it was for greed, or an impulsive act of madness, or whether there were ulterior motives that propelled him to act in the way he did—I suspect we'll never know. This court has danced around that topic all day. We know what happened—move for move, gesture for gesture. So detailed have the testimonies been today that any of us here present could reenact the events of that day with utmost precision. And yet here we are at the end of the day and we still don't really understand. It just doesn't add up. And the answer to that is simple: _because we don't know_ _why_. Nor will we, it seems, seeing as we have had a parade of witnesses come through this court and not one of them has been able to give us any insight. I won't be any different. I won't be able to tell you what was going through Prince Hans' mind as he raised his sword to strike me. I may never know why, only hours after he chose to save me from the Duke's guards, he tried to finish what they started. I will not be able to help anyone make up their mind about whether he deserves to be put to death or not."

She surveyed the room, which had gone silent once more. She looked at Hans, who gazed at her with disbelieving curiosity.

"But I can do one thing," she continued, her tone gentler now, her fingers relaxing.

"Queen Elsa—" Prince Jon muttered, trying to call her attention discreetly to him, perhaps to fix her with a stare, one last attempt to stop what he knew was coming.

Hans had said so himself—she had the power to create and destroy in the palm of her hands. Perhaps it was time she put it to use.

"After much deliberation, I have come to the conclusion that we simply do not know enough. _I_ certainly do not know enough. I understand the gravity of Prince Hans' actions—no one here can understand them better than my sister and I. And while she and I do believe that his transgressions must be dealt with, we do not like to find ourselves in the foul business of taking someone's life. After all, what sort of hypocrites would we be if we showed up here at this court, indignant and outraged at Prince Hans' attempts to end our lives, and then in turn take his own? It is simply not what we do, not what we believe in. The Southern Isles maybe have its own laws to abide by, but we who come from Arendelle believe in second chances, in redemption, in rehabilitation …"

"Queen Elsa!" Prince Jon barked, urgent. She ignored him: his booming voice seemed like the annoying buzzing of a fly now.

"And so, by the power vested in me as the Queen of Arendelle, I, as well as on behalf of my sister Princess Anna and the entire kingdom of Arendelle …" her eyelids flickered as she swallowed through a painfully dry throat, her heartbeat flickering against the palm of her hand "… hereby grant Prince Hans our official pardon."

The gentle buzzing from before evolved in one split second into chaos, the courtroom exploding with gasps, protests, and even a few rounds of applause.

"Queen Elsa!"

"I also hereby make an official appeal to the courts of the Southern Isles, that they may practice leniency with his sentencing and spare him the death penalty."

Elsa and Hans stood staring at each other, both in bewilderment but of different kinds. Prince Hans was subtly stunned, as only he seemed to know how to be. His every emotion was so controlled that even shock seemed diluted in him. As for Elsa—her bewilderment came from the heart-stopping realization of what she had just done.

She and Hans now stood as if separate from the discord that had erupted around them, entrapped by an invisible bubble—a subset of a larger crowd which could never understand the coarse ties that bound the two of them. Both of them were strangers in the best sense of the word and yet each was a complete and striking mirror image of the other.

With her courage finally draining and well aware that no one was listening to her any longer, she added in a brittle voice, "That will be all."

Finally, she tore her gaze from Hans' and began to clamber down from the witness stand.

"Elsa!" she heard her sister's voice call out her name. "Elsa, wait!"

But Elsa didn't want to wait. She wanted to be alone. The pace of her steps increased as she made her way into the antechamber.

Anna was quickly at her side.

"Elsa," Anna cried, as she took her sister's arm and turned her to face her. "You were so great! So brave! Are you all—"

"Queen Elsa!"

Prince Jon had followed her and was now slamming the door behind him.

"Have you lost your mind?" he bellowed.

"Actually, my mind has never been clearer," Elsa replied, with far more composure than she had anticipated.

"You have no authority to do this!"

"To grant a man forgiveness?" asked Elsa.

Prince Jon's lips curled and uncurled as he tried to find a rebuttal, fists balled at his sides. Elsa found it peculiar how now, when he was at his most threatening, she wasn't even remotely scared of him. She watched him with a feeling akin to pity—she had, in a matter of minutes, reduced him to a powerless giant. He had been such a symbol of authority and fear since her arrival—how strange it was to stand before him and not feel small.

"You've made a big mistake, Queen Elsa," said Prince Jon. "You can say goodbye to learning about the origin of your powers! Our deal is off!"

"I never made a deal with you," said Elsa, almost amused. "But in any case, you don't need to worry about me. I've gone this long without knowing. I can go longer still."

Fire seemed to erupt inside Prince Jon as his face flushed a violent red. "I ought to have you arrested! This is treason!"

Elsa perused him with distaste. "Is this what Prince Hans had to grow up with? Threats? Accusations? It's no wonder he's turned out the way he has."

That was when the man turned from no more than a big brute to the deceitful snake he truly was. Jon's voice was as low as she had ever heard it and he hissed in that same way Hans had the first night she met him in the dungeons, causing a chill to pass over her chest.

"You think you've had the last word, Queen Elsa, but I can assure you that have not." His tone was quiet, menacing. "Believe me, this is not the end. You'll soon find that you've made a big mistake."

He turned and stormed out of the room, leaving Elsa cold. As he opened the door she caught sight of Gregor standing just outside, seemingly stunned. But before Elsa could read anymore into his expression, Prince Jon slammed the door shut with such force that her hair and skirt were blown back.

She suddenly remembered Anna standing just behind her when the younger princess called Prince Jon a word which under any other circumstances would have made Elsa reprimand her. This time, not only was she too agitated to care about her use of the slur, she wholeheartedly agreed with it.

"The nerve!" Anna said heatedly. "We are so stopping all trade with the Southern Isles when we get back! We can do that, right, Elsa? Elsa? Are you all right?"

Elsa placed a shaking hand on a nearby table to steady herself. "I'm fine."

Clutching her other hand to her chest, feeling the palpitation against her palm, she hoped against all hope that she had done the right thing.


	13. Chapter 8

**A/N:** Not much to say, just letting you guys know 4 more chapters and we're done! Thank you to everyone who's read, reviewed, followed, etc. Hope you guys like this one. :)

Shout out to my beta **flubbegutter** for all her help sharpening up this chapter!

**EIGHT**

Regardless of the time of day, the cells in the dungeons were always in some level of darkness. There were no windows; they had been built underground for extra security. The only light available came from the torches on the walls and most nights the guards didn't bother lighting them all. Even with a few of them lit, one still had to squint to make anything out. On windy or stormy nights, gusts of wind would sweep in through the entrance and the flames would blow out. The prisoners would be forced to lie on their cots, staring into the hopeless black void that extended endlessly before them.

Tonight the golden glow of one lit torch dimly illuminated Hans' cell so that he could stand in the shadows and just barely discern the red marks that stood out on his wrists where the iron cuffs had dug into them all day. He didn't need the light to know they were there. Some days—like today—he wore them for so long he felt their weight even after they'd been taken off.

It gave him hope to think, as he massaged each of his wrists, that in three days he would never be forced to wear them again. If he should be sentenced to the prison isle of Muros, he would never again have to be transported anywhere, therefore there would be no need for chains again. Sure, he would only be let out of his cell twice a week for a walk around the courtyard, which was nothing compared to being able to ride Sitron anytime he liked to any place he desired, but in his current situation being chain-free would be a small victory and he would take what he could get.

On the other hand, should he not be sentenced to Muros and instead receive the death penalty … well, that too would be a form of freedom, he supposed.

With his fingers still wrapped around the cuff marks, a vision of Elsa's own white wrist in his hand flashed before his eyes. That was the night he almost forced her to freeze his heart. There had been too much rage coursing through him that night to register it, but it came back to him now—the feel of her fragile wrist trapped in his own vice-like grip. Just a little longer, just a little more force and he might have crushed it …

Hans squeezed his eyes shut to repress a wince. A picture of Elsa standing at the witness stand took over.

The scene had been stuck in his mind on loop since the guards had dragged him away from the courthouse. Elsa disoriented, stuttering—a silly little nervous fool; a disgrace of a queen.

And then: a shift—so sudden, he who had never taken his eyes off her hadn't seen it happen. As if someone or something had taken control of her body, she'd become the complete opposite of what she had been before. Elsa—snapping back at Jon, at Josef, an impenetrable firmness in her voice, a reproachful edge in her words, a boulder which his brothers' bullets could not break no matter how many they fired.

The corner of his mouth started pulling up just when he heard Gregor's voice echoing down the hallway.

"Hans!"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Hans moved closer to the cell door and saw his brother approaching. He stopped only half a second to acknowledge Barnabas, who stood up and bowed when he saw the prince coming.

"Hans!"

"What happened? Did you talk to her?"

"No, I didn't get a chance to," said Gregor, almost out of breath. "Jon got to her before I could and by the time he was finished with her I didn't have the heart to trouble her. I don't think Princess Anna would have allowed me anywhere near her either way. I'll try to find her tomorrow."

"What did Jon do?"

"Can't you imagine?" said Gregor. "He berated her. Accused her of treason. Threatened her! He must truly be terrified!"

"Is she …" Hans began. He squeezed the bars as he tried to fight something that twisted inside him, pushing him to ask even though an inherent old habit begged him not to. "Is she all right?"

"She held her own, if that's what you mean. I highly doubt anyone in her position could be all right after a day like today."

Hans nodded as his mind wandered back to the vision of Elsa standing tall in the witness stand—remembering also how easy it had been to break through her tough facade that first night when she'd come to see him. What a curious thing she was. In his mind she seemed to teeter between fragile and solid, like an icicle sharp and rigid bursting into a thousand pieces as it fell to the ground, the fragments melting with such ease as soon as the sunlight touched them …

Gregor's hand on his shoulder brought him back. "You know what this means, right?" he said, his face bright. "This is going to work, brother. We're going to get through this."

In Gregor's eyes Hans could see hope shining, lighting him up, erasing away some of that weariness he always carried with him, taking years off his prematurely aged face and making him seem young again.

But Hans suspected that this sudden spark of youth he perceived in Gregor was no more than naiveté.

A gray curtain seemed to drop over his vision, taking the color out of everything around him. He cast his own gaze down. The light in Gregor's eyes was almost too painful to look at.

"What's the matter?" asked Gregor, genuine confusion in his tone.

How could Gregor, who was had always been shrewd, logical and mechanical, and in some ways a modest mastermind, really not see what was happening? Hans shook his head despondently. Hope truly did make fools out of people.

"Hans?" Gregor prodded when he didn't respond.

"Do you really not recognize this part of the cycle?" Hans asked.

Gregor frowned. "What do you—"

"I _mean_," said Hans, accentuating his words with impatience, "we've been here before."

There was a silent, heavy pause, punctuated by Gregor's lack of response. Hans had expected him to plead his case immediately, the plethora of assurances to come pouring out of his mouth like they had so many times before. Instead when Hans looked up at his brother he found him rigid, unflinching, his features stone-like with a hardness Hans knew was rare but lethal when it surfaced.

"Don't," Gregor murmured, letting go of Hans' shoulder.

"Don't what?" asked Hans. "Don't be realistic?"

"Just _don't_!" said Gregor. "Don't do this! Not after everything we've been through, after everything we've done, after all _her_ sacrifice!"

"Her sacrifice?" asked Hans scoffing. "You mean standing up in a room full of people that already revere her to ask for someone's pardon?" asked Hans, speaking even as something inside him begged him to retract his words. "It's not that difficult when you think about it. Anyone could have done that."

"You daft _ingrate_," said Gregor in disbelief. "No, anyone could not have done that! Especially not the same woman you once tried to _kill_!"

"It won't matter!" said Hans. "None of this—all your schemes and your ploys won't mean a damned thing! Jon will have his way—he always does!"

"Did you know that Jon tried to bribe Elsa?" Gregor blurted out. "Did you know that he offered her the answer to the origin of her powers in exchange for keeping her mouth shut and not pleading on your behalf?"

Hans' mouth had opened in retort before Gregor's words could sink in. He stopped a moment, then squinted at Gregor. "What?"

"That's right. I heard Jon yelling at Elsa that their deal was off. He was so scared of what Elsa pardoning you and pleading for your life might do that he went so far as to bribe her with the one piece of information that she has probably longed for her whole life. And she turned it down—_for you_!"

Hans searched Gregor's face in confusion. "Why would she do that?"

"Because," Gregor began, "contrary to your beliefs, there are still good, selfless people out there. Queen Elsa is one of them. Not only did the woman you tried to kill stand up today to an entire audience full of people that hate you to _pardon_ you, but she did this with the full knowledge that she would be getting nothing in return for it."

After a long pause Hans replied, "She's a fool."

"Perhaps. But if she is, then so are all of us." Gregor closed his eyes and exhaled. "When are you going to understand, Hans? You're not alone. You never have been. I'm not giving up, nor should you."

Hans looked up at his brother. He no longer wore any traces of ardent indignation in his face.

"I must go now," said Gregor. "Jon's holding a council meeting tonight and I wouldn't put it past him to start without me. I'll come back later and keep you updated."

He gave Hans' shoulder a short squeeze once more and, looking into eyes so similar that they could have been his very own, he said, "This is going to work. Please, start believing it."

The light of the torch on the opposite wall flickered while Hans watched his brother disappear around the corner.

How simple it was for Gregor to ask him to believe, to trust. He who could at any moment choose to turn his back on him and leave him to rot inside his cell.

And yet he hadn't. For weeks Gregor had persevered, at great personal risk. Even as his brothers had placed him in chains and sent him to be imprisoned in the dungeons, Gregor had pleaded his case. He'd even gone through the shameful task of asking Queen Elsa for help.

He'd done it all. Without hesitation or complaints. And Hans had nothing to offer in return except for cynicism and ungratefulness.

It wasn't that he wasn't grateful or that he took pleasure in drawing clouds over Gregor's sunlight. It was just that he was tired of being disappointed.

Watching Gregor do all the hard work only added to Hans' guilt. He had screwed up, and realized it too late. And now he could do no more than watch Gregor run around in circles, elaborating plans and digging for loopholes all while he was made to watch from the dim light of the dungeons.

And yet, in all his deep-rooted pessimism, there had been a moment that day when in spite of himself he had almost been lifted, the constant thunderous clouds that inhabited his mind had parted to let the light in.

There she'd stood—a picture of grace and authority, like some celestial creature climbed down from the heavens, come to exercise her power to create or destroy with a perfect, admirable balance.

For the smallest of instances, he had felt himself filled with something he could only suspect was hope. It had filled his lungs with air, leaving him to feel as though he'd never really known what it was like to breathe before. His very skin had prickled, as if for the first time in a long time blood coursed through his veins again.

And then to find out that Elsa had put her own needs aside to grant him a pardon that may not affect his sentencing in the least bit. Why?

His first instinct when she had agreed to help him was to assume that perhaps she was trying to break him, make him vulnerable. It was all he had ever learned of people. It was what he had learned from his brothers: no one cared about you unless they had something they could take from you. But she hadn't taken anything from him. Instead, she had given even more of herself up. This stumped his logic.

After everything he had done to her, to Princess Anna, after he himself had tried to dissuade her, why would she still choose to place her bets on him?

He suddenly saw a little girl, with hair so blonde it was almost white and eyes so blue they could have been made of the same crystals that bloomed in her hands. Ice-blue eyes that widened in fear every time he tried to approach her. If only she would let him close enough to tell her he meant no harm … that all he'd wanted was to be her friend and for hours watch her produce the unimaginable, the unthinkable …

Until at last, fifteen years later, she finally had. She had returned as an adult and offered him her hand and within it had been a gift far more dazzling than anything any form of magic could conjure.

He stood up straight and made up his mind.

Hans would never allow himself be carried away by hope, he knew that much. Whatever small amount managed to seep inside him, he would always push it right back out. He refused to let his guard down, to be compelled by the seductive light of hope. It was simply part of his nature now, to scoff at it and turn his attention in the other direction.

But one thing he could do was ensure that favors—especially grand, life-changing ones—did not go unpaid. Be what he may—calculative, self-serving, cold-hearted—he was not a 'daft ingrate.' Perhaps it was more out of never wanting to have to owe anyone anything, but it was the one quality of his that even his worst enemies could count on.

"Barnabas?"

The jingling of keys resounded as the round man waddled over to Hans' cell.

"Yes, Your Highness?"

"I need you to do me a favor," said Hans.

"A favor?"

"I need a drink," said Hans.

"What can I get you, Your Highness?"

"Some of the Southern Isles' finest scotch."

"Of course, Your Highness. Anything particular in mind?"

Hans lips twitched as an old spark of mischief suddenly rushed over him. He hadn't felt that spark in weeks and had been certain he would never feel it again. "Now that you mention it, I think you'll find His Highness Prince Jon has quite a spectacular collection stashed away in his bureau."

"Your Highness?"

After a careful walkthrough and a set of strict instructions, Hans sent Barnabas away on his mission, leaving him alone with his thoughts once more.

A gust of wind blew out the nearest torch's flame and Hans was abruptly submerged in darkness. But instead of sinking into it, allowing it to envelop him and drown him, a certain thought crossed his mind: What did it matter if he was amidst complete and utter darkness if he knew the stars were shining outside?


	14. Chapter 9

**A/N:** Hey guys, just dropping in real quick to say thank you to everyone who read, reviewed, followed, etc.! Also, if you happen to stop by the reviews and see a certain flamer leaving comments (my VERY loyal flamer! They check in with every post! If that's not commitment, I don't know what is) please save your energies and don't respond to them. I appreciate it IMMENSELY if you already have said something to this person, believe me I do, but I just don't think it's worth your time, your patience, or your energy. Also, it's EXACTLY what they want. You're feeding into their trap. Please ignore them and let us all just continue to enjoy the story for what's left of it. With some luck, they'll go away. :)

Again, a million thanks to my beta **flubbergutter** for editing this fic!

I leave you guys with some words by the great George Bernard Shaw:

**"I learned long ago, never to wrestle with a pig. You get dirty, and besides, the pig likes it."** ;)

**NINE**

Clouds were slowly gathering outside, the light drizzle they brought leaving short trails like tiny comets on the glass of the paneled windows. Elsa watched without watching as they fell gently to an undefined rhythm. She had been standing there for what could have been mere minutes, or hours, maybe even days. But time seemed to stand still in this room of emerald and gold. She was six and she was twenty-one at the same time. She was terrified yet at peace, drained and yet so full, hopeful and yet hopeless.

Somehow she had imagined that pardoning Hans would leave her feeling more fulfilled. All it had really done was bring to the surface more uncertainty.

Had she done the right thing? This question plagued her awake and asleep. She had acted on impulse, which was not something she was used to doing. She was more used to calculated decisions, careful evaluations and thorough discussions with her advisors. In her defense, she had wracked her brain for days after Gregor had first come to her with his proposal, weighing out the pros and the cons. Yet she had been no closer to making a decision until she found herself in the very middle of it.

And in that moment she'd had no doubts. In spite of her heartbeat hammering violently against her ribcage, she had gotten through it without ever once doubting her stance.

The doubts came later. After Prince Jon berated her; after meeting the quizzical stares of the Dignitaries; the hushed, briskly broken whispers of the servants when she stepped into any room; even in the frown on Kristoff's face that Anna's discreet arm-pinching couldn't expel.

They came with the silence and the darkness that surrounded her later that night, the light flurries that fell over her bed as she replayed the whole day over again in her mind.

But she decided she was finished debating it. She was tired of trying to have all the answers. She had done what she'd done and, no matter what anyone thought of it, there was no going back.

She looked up, meeting her reflection in the windowpane and startled to find herself looking back, having forgotten entirely where she was. She was more surprised by finding in her reflection a face she hardly recognized. It felt like ages since the last time she had looked into a mirror. The girl looking back seemed hardly a girl anymore. Her complexion was paler than she remembered, the edges of her face sharper, the corners of her mouth pointing down. There were raindrops streaming down from the eyes that stared back.

A knock on the door pulled her attention and she turned around to find Gregor standing at the room's entrance.

"Your Majesty," he said with a slight bow of his head. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

"Not at all," said Elsa. "Please, come in."

He stepped inside as Elsa waited, for the first time since she met him not dreading his presence.

"How have you been?" he asked as he approached her.

"I've had better days, but I've also had worse," said Elsa with a faint smile. "And yourself?'

"Your answer applies to both of us today," he replied. His tone turned more serious as he ventured on, "Your Majesty, I don't mean to take up much of your time. I can imagine you must be utterly tired of seeing me."

Her smile acquired some strength as she replied, "That's not as true now as it was a few days ago."

Gregor returned the smile. There it was—the familiar kindness in those eyes she'd grown so fond of. For weeks those eyes had tortured her in her dreams. How refreshing it had been to meet Gregor and find that those eyes could hold genuine kindness after all.

"Queen Elsa," he said. "I want to thank you for what you did. I can't even begin to fathom how difficult it must have been for you to get up there and plead on Hans' behalf. He and I are eternally indebted to you."

Elsa stiffened at the mention of Hans. "Is he … _how_ is he?"

"All right, I suppose—considering his situation. Incredulous. Pessimistic. But that's Hans."

She gave him a feeble half-smile. She brought her gaze down to her hands and cleared her throat before asking, "So what happens now?"

"Well," Gregor began, "the High Council will vote in tomorrow's trial either to send Hans to Muros or to have him sentenced to death. We're having a meeting later today to discuss the two options. Jon held an emergency one last night.

"You've really thrown him off his game," he added with an abrupt zealousness. "He's as confused as anyone on what to do now. He's desperate to have Hans terminated, but after your public show of mercy he knows it will affect how the people of the Southern Isles see him—especially if he insists in murdering his own brother when his own victim so openly chose to forgive him."

Elsa squeezed her hands tightly as a question she had meant to hold back impulsively sprouted from her lips. "What happens if the High Council votes for the death penalty?"

"Jon can override the vote. He's the High Judge, he has that power."

"And you're sure Prince Jon would do that?"

"He has to," said Gregor. "Jon won't risk another uprising. He knows the rebels are out there, biding their time, just waiting for the right moment to begin the rebellion again. This would be the perfect fuel to help them ignite the fire and turn the people against him."

Elsa nodded as she absorbed the information. "Well, I sincerely do hope it works."

"It will," said Gregor. "It has to."

Elsa gave him a small smile but did not let her eyes meet his. Gregor had so much hope and optimism, so much riding on a single stake, she didn't want him to see that she pitied him a little for trusting his luck so blindly.

"I'm sorry, Queen Elsa, I'm sure this will seem like a stupid question, especially coming from me," Gregor began, "but—I'm curious—what made you change your mind?"

Elsa's brow furrowed as she pondered his question for a moment.

"To be honest with you, I'm not quite sure," she said. Still squeezing one hand in the other, she gazed about the room, seeing two versions of it in her mind—the way it was now: neat, proper and untouched; and the way she'd known it as a child: a blizzard room of terror. She wondered whether she would ever be able to see the former without the latter, or whether she was destined to always live with a fused image of the two.

"Do you remember your brother Hugo's wedding?" asked Elsa.

"I do," he replied.

"Well, I was here too, with my parents. I was only six years old then and I had no recollection of it until very recently. I suppose coming back here must have triggered the memories …" She looked down at her hands, clasped tightly at her waist. "One particular memory came back to me—it took place in this very room."

Gregor watched her intrigued. "What was it?"

"Well, you see, six was the age when I'd first started displaying ice powers. No one knew—not even my parents. I could do little things: make small snowballs, replicate small ornaments, everything to a small scale … I was curious and fascinated by my powers in a way that I never was again. I'd sneak away for hours at a time trying out new things—nothing so big as to bring attention to myself, of course. It was no different while I was here with my family. I'd still sneak away to test my powers in secluded corners. The iron fence in the rose gardens was always deserted, so it was the perfect spot. Or at least it was, until Hans caught me replicating roses into ice one day …"

A vision of the auburn haired boy sobbing softly into his knees flashed in her mind and twinge crossed her chest. Elsa blinked and continued.

"I was terrified. I hadn't even told my family yet for fear of what they would do or how they would react. And here was this boy I'd never seen before in my life staring right into my deepest secret …"

Gregor's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "I remember Hans saying something about the little girl that could make ice, but to be honest I dismissed him thinking he was simply letting his imagination run wild."

Elsa smiled bashfully. "That was me he was talking about. I managed to get away that day, but Hans' curiosity didn't die down. I caught him spying on me a few times, probably hoping to catch me in the act again. I was terrified of him; I couldn't know what he'd do with enough proof. So, the instant I'd see him I'd run in the opposite direction.

"He found me one day just outside the hall, admiring the painting of Queen Margrith—well, I say admiring, but I was really just a silly girl with an imaginary friend. Either way, I caught him spying on me once more and I panicked. The first thing I did was run into this room, but I was obviously cornered. The panic increased and everything I touched turned to ice. Icicles dripped from the chandelier, from the window frames, mounds of snow appeared on the corners of the room. It was the first time ever I'd lost control. Then I heard your older brothers coming down the hall and I knew he had me."

Elsa paused a moment as she stared into space, recalling the incident for what seemed like the hundredth time that past week. "He came straight at me … I remember begging; I was so scared. He seized me by the arm and I swore he was taking me to his brothers to expose me. Instead he opened that armoire there and shoved me into it."

Gregor's eyebrows went up. "Hans did that?"

Elsa nodded lightly. Gregor's shock didn't surprise her. She was the one it had happened to and she could still hardly believe or understand it herself. So much time had passed and so many things had occurred between that time and the present that it would never be possible for anyone to hear this story without some level of incredulousness.

She went on. "When your brothers came they didn't understand what had happened. But Hans never faltered. He never gave me up. Even when they … mistreated him … he never said a single word. Thanks to that I was able to keep my secret for many more years."

"Well, I never would have imagined," said Gregor, still astounded.

"I don't know why he did it," said Elsa. "I don't know why he helped me. I know he was just a boy and that there was far more innocence in him then than there is in the man trapped behind bars now. But that memory … it made me remember that he wasn't always what he is now. That maybe circumstances have not been in his favor. Your brothers—in my memory, they didn't treat him very well, to put it nicely. I doubt they were any different during much of his childhood."

"No, I'm afraid they weren't," said Gregor somberly.

Elsa's brow creased in sympathy. "I guess, I just thought … he wasn't shown better, so how could he know better? Despised and estranged by his own blood, at such a young age accused of a crime that he didn't commit, having to grow up with that guilt—how could he possibly know anything of compassion when he lacked someone to show him? Yes, he had you, I'm sure, but eleven versus one is a big advantage and I'm certain it made just as big an impact on him."

She sighed crossing her arms in front of her. "The day of the trial, all I felt was that it was time someone showed him what compassion looked like. I didn't know if it would make a difference. I still don't. But I couldn't let that opportunity pass me by …"

She glanced up at Gregor, who had been listening silently and with keen attention.

"It was Hans, really, that convinced me," she added. "Or rather, something he said."

"What was that?" Gregor asked.

Elsa licked her lips before continuing. "He … well, he told me more or less that my power was wasted on me. That I'm a just fool with the power to create or destroy sitting right in the palm of my hand."

Gregor shook his head. "He's an idiot."

Elsa smiled. "Perhaps, but it was actually good thing he said that because—well, he made me realize it's not the power to create or destroy that counts. It's the choice."

She met Gregor's gaze and found that his face had broken into a smile which she would have liked to describe as proud and full of admiration—but years of practiced self-deprecation wouldn't allow her. Still, it was a smile similar to the one she had seen on Anna's face when they were younger and she would amuse her sister with her powers. She had seen it again recently during the last hearing, after Elsa had stood up at court and, in spite of everyone's wishes, pardoned Hans.

"I'll be sure to pass this bit of knowledge on to Hans," said Gregor. "It's quite amusing seeing him try to understand human integrity."

Elsa laughed lightly. "Then perhaps you should also remind him that he was the one who once told me not to become the monster everyone feared I was. That ought to really stump him."

"Perhaps you should do the honors," said Gregor lightheartedly. "It should have twice as much punch coming from you."

"No, that's quite all right," said Elsa, her own brief cheerfulness suddenly diminishing. "I think Prince Hans and I have said enough to each other."

A small, silent pause filled the space between them as Elsa recalled the last meeting she'd had with Hans in the dungeons, sans Gregor's company. Surely Hans would have related his version of the encounter to Gregor, but she wondered just how accurate his account might have been. Into how much detail had he gone? How much of Elsa's own impromptu unraveling had he been willing to discuss? Was Gregor standing before her now having a better grasp of her character than he was letting on? And if so, did he pity her?

"Queen Elsa," said Gregor, also having lost his lighthearted tone. "I know of your sacrifice. After the trial, I heard Jon telling you—or yelling, rather—that your deal was off, that he wouldn't be handing you the information about the origin of your powers since you'd chosen to plead for Hans."

Elsa stared blankly at him, her face falling. "I swear I never made any deal—"

"I know," said Gregor reassuringly. "You don't have to try to convince me. I know Jon and I know his tactics. I'm only bringing it up because—well, I'm really sorry. For Jon's behavior. For my entire family's, really. For everything we've put you through these past couple of months. I can't help but feel that having Jon bribe you with something so important was simply the last straw. That information must mean so much to you and Jon—"

"I've lived twenty-one years without that information," Elsa interrupted him. "It won't hurt me to live without it a few more."

Gregor bowed his head. "I promise your sacrifice won't be in vain."

Elsa smiled feebly and kept from meeting his gaze. She didn't want her own eyes to betray even for a moment how much she had dreamed of obtaining that information, the subsequent disappointment—long before pardoning Hans at the trial—in realizing that she was never meant to receive it. It just wouldn't have been right. If the point of forgiving Hans was to liberate herself, then accepting a bribe to help maintain his misery or punish him further would have defeated it entirely.

"You'll be leaving soon after the sentencing, I expect?" asked Gregor.

"As soon as the crew is ready. I'm sure I must be persona non grata in Prince Jon's castle by now. I don't wish to linger for much longer."

Gregor smiled. "Please, do ensure you stop to say goodbye."

Elsa smiled. "I'll try my best."

Gregor looked about the room and sighed. "Forgive me, but I hope it's not too bold to say that at times like this I think it a pity that Hans' original plan didn't work out."

Elsa frowned. "What do you mean?"

Gregor shrugged lightly, a peculiar sparkle gleaming in his eye as he looked at her. "Just that I think it would have been nice to have someone like you in the family for a change."

Her eyebrows lifted as he bowed.

"Your Majesty," Gregor said, before leaving Elsa standing cold and unmoving in the center of a spinning room.


	15. Chapter 10

**A/N:** Hey guys! Just stopping by to say thank you once more too everyone who read, reviewed, followed, etc.! Thank you so, so much! ONLY TWO CHAPTERS LEFT! Hope you guys like this one!

A million thanks to my beta **flubbergutter** and the wonders that she does for this fic!

**TEN**

_And it's peaceful in the deep  
Cathedral where you cannot breathe  
No need to pray, no need to speak  
Now I am under._

\- Florence and the Machine, _Never Let Me Go_

The skirt of Elsa's dress flailed wildly around her as another gust of wind circled the castle grounds. It ripped through the trees with a vengeful violence, rustling the leaves so that they tore and fell limp and submissive to the dirt beneath. The ocean roared behind her, crashing into the very rocks that formed the base of the hill on which she stood, gazing at the gray fortress before her.

Elsa wrapped her arms around herself, pulling her cloak tighter around her. Beneath the long sleeves of her dress her skin was covered in goosebumps, but to this she remained oblivious. Had she noticed, she might've acknowledged this as the first time she'd ever had such a reaction. Snow Queens were typically impermeable to the cold.

Why she had come here tonight, she couldn't begin to explain. She had simply followed her feet thoughtlessly, driven solely by an overwhelming, almost suffocating, pressure that had settled inside her chest since earlier that morning. Was it guilt? Hopelessness? Anger? A mix of all of the above was likely, but even so, Elsa was certain that no word had yet been invented to describe the desperate desolation that seemed to be tearing her slowly in two from the inside out.

Before she could bring her mind to reason, she had found herself standing outside the fortress that enclosed the dungeons. Parapets loomed high above her like the horns of the devil himself, defying her will to enter. But at this point she was beyond care for what the devil could do to her. She lingered simply out of her own lack of understanding—why had she come here at all?

_A crypt could not have been quieter than the courtroom had been that morning. From the moment people had begun to arrive, their voices had been more hushed than usual. And as the final hearing commenced, even those who'd sported a chronic cough throughout every past court session today had stifled it down mercilessly._

_This was the one moment Elsa had envisioned from the time the summons from the Southern Isles had landed in her hands. The thought of reaching the end of it all had been the light that had carried her through every moment filled with anguish and dread. _Just let it be over quickly, _she'd prayed day in and day out, the phrase becoming more like a mantra she'd clung to, to help get her through each day._

_Yet here she was now, hands clasped together tight as if in prayer—but it wasn't the end of it all that she prayed for. _

_She had done her part. She'd tried to give the man who'd tried to murder her and her sister a second chance for redemption. Many—even those who didn't agree with her decision—had called her noble. Not that that mattered. It wasn't nobility that she had been concerned with. It was peace of mind. Her conscience could rest peacefully from this day forward. Whatever the outcome, whatever the High Council's final verdict, this would soon be past her. She would soon go back to Arendelle knowing she had done the right thing—that she had at least tried to do the right thing. Her investment in this trial had come to its end. She had done her part._

_But even as she reassured herself of this, her tightly clasped hands seemed to say otherwise. In fact, they seemed to scream against it._

_She snuck a discreet glance at Hans, who stood stoic, his stare vacant. He was there physically but seemed absent of himself, as if his body were already devoid of life._

_That last thought sent a shiver down Elsa's spine so cold that frost spread from her fingertips down the back of her hands as she squeezed them tighter._

_Prince Jon was giving a long, drawn-out summary of the case against Hans, and each word drifted through her without meaning._

"_And so the High Court of the Southern Isles finds Prince Hans Westergard guilty on all counts."_

_Her knuckles were white._

"_Taking all we now know and all we have discovered since the beginning of this trial, including Her Majesty Queen Elsa's personal plea for mercy"—a certain strain in those last words let Elsa know Prince Jon was still seething—"I call to the High Council now to use their wisdom, sense and reasoning as they cast their votes on the most adequate form of punishment for Prince Hans."_

_If the court had been quiet before, it was nothing compared to how silent it was now._

"_Show of hands: all in favor of Prince Hans serving a triple life sentence at the prison isle of Muros," said Prince Jon, adjusting his reading glasses on his face as he looked up casually at the High Council corner._

_ As expected, Gregor raised his hand. As expected, but hoped against, no one else did._

_ "All in favor of sentencing Prince Hans to death?"_

_ A couple of hands rose firmly and decisively to the air. Five more delayed but just as sure made it up, one by one, fingers curled, shying away from the light. Three more at last, elbows tucked in, only enough pride for their index finger to show. Their eyes were cast down, pointedly avoiding Hans, but avoiding Prince Jon too._

_ Elsa had been holding her breath until now. There was still Prince Jon's final say—he could decide to override the vote. But Elsa knew as her chest sank slowly, as her fingers lost their grip, as she swallowed through a knot in her throat, that there was nothing left to hope for._

_ Prince Jon let out a long, audible sigh. He took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose before speaking again._

_ "Ladies and gentlemen of the court," he began. "I'm sure it isn't news to any of you that Prince Hans is our brother. Our very flesh and blood. Over the past few months I've felt nothing but grief at the circumstances of our situation. I have felt shame too, I won't deny that. But most of all—grief. _

_ "Hans, our youngest brother, betrayed our kingdom. He brought shame to us all. And yet I feel nothing but love for him. My heart is in deep, deep sorrow. I wish I had known, little brother, what I could have done to help you, to make you change your ways. We have shown you nothing but compassion and leniency all your life, but it seems this was not enough."_

_ Elsa glanced at Hans and found herself surprisingly pleased to detect a slight twitch in his jaw._

"_Or perhaps it was too much," Prince Jon went on. "Perhaps we should have been stricter. Perhaps losing your mother so young affected you more than we could have imagined. Perhaps the burden of being responsible for her death was too much to bear and it shaped you in ways none of us could have seen coming …"_

_Elsa gritted her teeth with borrowed indignation, insulted as if it had been her own personal insecurities Prince Jon was rubbing her nose into. Part of her wished Hans would burst out of his chains, throw himself at Prince Jon and release on him the same fury he'd shown her the day in the dungeons when he'd nearly broken out of his cell._

"_But it has come too far, little brother," said Prince Jon looking directly at Hans, who avoided his gaze. "At last, it has come time to do something about this. It was tolerable when your wild ways only affected us, but when you put an entire country at peril, harsh choices must be made."_

_Prince Jon lifted his glasses back up to his face. "And so, it is with a heavy heart that I, Prince Jon, High Judge and Prince Regent of the Southern Isles, charge Prince Hans with treason and sentence him to death."_

_The bubble of tension in the courtroom finally burst as loud voices erupted from every corner of the hall, mixed with approval and objection. Meanwhile, Elsa's heart sank completely, her previous fury dissipating into thin air. She turned to Hans blatantly now, searching his face conspicuously and intrudingly. He remained stoic. Anyone who saw him would have thought him too inhuman to even care about his own mortality._

_But Elsa knew better. As someone who had spent many years having to conceal parts of herself, she knew exactly what to look for: the slow rise and fall of an adam's apple; a chest that fell but never rose again; the slight quiver of a closed fist; that dull, dead look in his eyes._

Maybe she was asking herself the wrong question. Maybe instead of asking why she had come here she needed to ask herself why she had come here _again_. Why did she keep insisting, when even her own sister was beginning to question her investment in this case? Why did she not see how deluded it was to keep wanting to see things that had been repeatedly proved impossible to her? Why couldn't she let this go? Why, after everything had been said and done, had she chosen to come here again when there was nothing left to do?

_Because I know,_ she thought. _I have always known._

_As Prince Jon rapped his gavel three times to dismiss the court, everything around her seemed to erupt into chaos. Voices filled the air with a near desperation to fill every gap that the silence had previously occupied. The High Council left their seats, and Elsa felt as if she were simply watching them from within a dream. Gregor stepped out of the High Council's corner, calling out for Prince Jon, but the latter ignored him, moving about as if the noise and the movement was nothing to him but a distant, petty problem._

"_Remove the convict," Prince Jon said to the guards, without so much as a glance upwards._

"_Come on, Elsa, let's get out of here," she heard Anna say somewhere beside her, but even if Elsa had tried she would not have been able to move._

_The guards were moving in her direction, tugging at Hans' chains as if he were no more than stubborn cattle. _He is a prince, _she thought helplessly, but she wasn't sure if that mattered anymore._

_As he passed her, he looked up and caught her gaze. Elsa felt a weight fall upon her instantly and she cast her own eyes down with what felt unmistakably like shame. She was supposed to have helped him. She should have been able to stop this. Now he was off to his death and like a coward Elsa couldn't even look him in the eye._

_They were almost through the door when Hans called out, "Queen Elsa!"_

_ Startled, Elsa looked up at him as he struggled against the guards' pull on the chains._

_ "Queen Elsa!" he tried again._

_ Elsa watched him, half curious and half desperate._

_ "For what it's worth," Hans said, leaning towards her as far as his chains would allow, "I'm—"_

_ Her heart gave an odd beat and inside her something seemed to erupt, as if coming alive again after a long period of dormancy._

_ With her eyes wide and her fists clutched, she watched his mouth open and close again. Her own tongue pressed up against the back of her teeth as if somehow she could help him through._

_ His mouth opened again but one last tug and the guards succeeded in pulling him away. The door closed behind them and Elsa felt her heart lodged in her throat. _

_ "What on earth was that?" asked Anna, staring at the closed door perplexedly._

_ Elsa looked down at her closed fists and opened them. Her palms were clammy. They had never been clammy before._

Elsa exhaled, and as her breath left her she felt a sturdiness return to her bones.

She was here because she had always known. All this time Gregor hadn't been trying to _convince_ her; he had only been hoping she would come out from her denial and accept what she had already known, what perhaps only she could fully understand …

She and Hans were two sides of the same bent coin.

Without any further hesitation, Elsa stepped forward and started towards the dungeons.

She moved gingerly down the stairs, holding her skirt up as she climbed down, the distant sound of clouds rumbling behind her. She stopped as she arrived at the last step, clinging to the wall. Her determination had suddenly left her. She hadn't considered until now that perhaps he wouldn't want to see her, that perhaps she would only be intruding, taking away what could be his last precious moments of peace.

She could still go back. He wouldn't be able to see her from where she stood, as the line of cells followed the same wall that she had pressed herself against. Barnabas also seemed to be nowhere in sight. Only a single torch on the wall remained lit, so she cast no shadows. Hans needn't know she had ever been here.

She debated her next move with the sole, somewhat shocking counterargument that maybe it was _she_ who wanted to see him one last time.

As she stood, a powerful breeze blew in through the entrance. It ruffled her skirt and aggravated her hair, causing strands to come loose from her braid.

Just as she made up her mind to turn and go back up the steps, Hans' voice rang out, "Queen Elsa?"

Elsa staggered and turned right back around. Swallowing hard, she made her way closer to his cell.

"How did you know I was here?" she asked, searching the depths of his cell until the light reflected off his arm down at the foot of the barred gate.

"Purple heathers," he replied.

He raised his arm. Light glinted off amber liquid in a glass bottle. As far as she could discern in the darkness, he brought the bottle to his mouth and she wondered for a moment how he had come into possession of liquor as a prisoner—but then she assumed that being a prisoner and a prince at the same time meant that the rules didn't all apply in the same way.

"I beg your pardon?" she said, still confused.

He put the bottle down. "Your perfume."

Elsa blinked in bafflement. "Oh."

Silence fell upon them as Elsa stood awkwardly outside his cell while he sat on the floor behind the bars, bringing the bottle again to his lips. She desperately searched her brain for something to say but she couldn't even muster up a proper excuse for showing up here tonight.

Not that she needed one. He never bothered to ask.

It was odd, she thought—until now, words had never failed them in every moment they had spent together. Somehow in their anger there had always been something to protest, something to reproach. Now it was as if they had, in their strange peace, run out of things to say. But Elsa knew this wasn't quite true. Somehow, the fear and the fury she'd felt before was easier to express. Now she was all out of anger and all the words she wanted had grown timid and chosen to hide.

At last she fixed on a subject. "I'm surprised to not find Prince Gregor here tonight."

Hans finished taking a swig from his bottle before replying, "He's out making arrangements."

"Oh," said Elsa softly, picturing Gregor somewhere picking out caskets, contacting the Royal Chaplain. She considered that perhaps that hadn't been the most tactful topic to bring up.

She sank back with embarrassment, wishing she hadn't said anything at all, half-eyeing the stairway, wondering how ridiculous she would seem if she suddenly bolted out of there, wondering why seeming ridiculous in Hans' eyes should even matter at this point.

Lost in these considerations, she was startled when Hans suddenly spoke up again. "I suppose you'll be sitting front row tomorrow at noon when the time comes."

"What?" she asked, gathering her scattered thoughts. "Oh—no, I—certainly not. I've actually asked my crew to have the ship ready at dawn. I have no desire to stick around for …"

Her voice trailed off as she searched for a word that could most tactfully replace "your decapitation and subsequent death," but she realized quickly how futile it was. In any case, the silence that followed her unfinished sentence, her omitted words, was heavy enough to compensate for any word in any human language that could accurately describe one person's imminent end.

Hans scoffed before continuing with his apparent undertaking of emptying the bottle. Silence fell over them once again and Elsa caught herself shifting awkwardly from foot to foot. She mentally scolded herself: _Queens do not fidget!_

"I'm sorry," said Elsa suddenly. "I'm not even sure why I came here. I'll go now."

But just as she'd turned Hans' voice called out, "Wait …"

"Yes?"

"Just …" Hans began, his fingers tightening around the neck of his bottle.

"What?" asked Elsa, studying his silhouetted face closely, trying to understand what was so hard for him to say to her.

"I …"

His grip on the bottle intensified and Elsa thought she heard the slightest crack in his voice.

Her face opened up as understanding suddenly dawned on her. _Of course_.

"I can stay," she said.

He remained silent, but his grip on the bottle loosened. Raindrops were beginning to splatter hard against the ground outside the dungeons, the sound harmonizing with that of the wildly rustling leaves. The echoes filled the heavy silence between them.

Knowing now that she wasn't intruding, Elsa's apprehensions about being there melted away. She hadn't been completely in the wrong coming here tonight—her visit at least now had some purpose, no matter how pointless, no matter how somber. No one—no matter how tough their exterior—wanted to spend their last moments on earth alone.

"I never thought this is how it would happen," he said.

Elsa took a few steps closer to his cell, for the first time since she started visiting the dungeons without an ounce of fear or anxiety. From this angle, the torchlight illuminated the curves on the side of his face. Sitting there on the floor behind the bars—back to the wall, knees pulled up, one elbow balancing on one knee while the other hand held on to his bottle for comfort and reassurance—he resembled that boy from fifteen years ago more than ever. Her heart softened and ached all at once. She would have had to be something less than human to allow any room for rancor or fear as she looked at him, pitiful, not even the shadow of the striking prince he'd once been. How impotent it made her feel not to be able to grant him anything more than a few minutes of her company before his death.

"There were a few occasions—" he added. "Two, really, come to mind—in which I thought for sure I'd met my end.

"One of them happened when I went off to find Anna and instead ran into your snowman up at the North Mountain. I found myself hanging off the staircase by the mere tips of my fingers. And even then I knew, somehow, I'd make it. And I did. Pulled myself up and walked into your ice castle, death not even a flicker of a shadow that night."

He took a swig from his bottle as if the amber liquid within it was fuel to keep him going.

"The second time," he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, "or rather the first time in my life that I came an inch from death, was when I was seven years old. I had been having an ongoing battle for months against Aron and Bran. Me against the two of them, all of us trying to outsmart each other. One day they decided to set my father's two favorite horses free and went to him to say I'd done it. He was livid, to say the very least. I still have the scars on my back as a lovely memento of his unadulterated rage. My mother tried to step in to defend me but my father couldn't be reasoned with. He not only punished me but also argued with my mother in a way that I'd never seen before. He was in a fury; to keep her from getting in the way he pushed her aside with such force that she fell back into a side table, knocking it and its contents over. It was daunting—he may have been rough with us boys, but he had never used force against her, not until that day …"

His thumb rimmed the mouth of the bottle as he told his tale, his eyes watching without watching. Elsa looked at him silently, her brow creased with an aching curiosity, becoming invested in a story that she knew wasn't going to end well.

"Aron and Bran taunted me, because somehow having my father whip me for something I didn't do wasn't enough. They couldn't be satiated. So they came after me and told me that Father hated me now and that he now also hated Mother for always stepping in for me. They said the only thing I could do to help my mother was to run away so that I would never have to be a burden in their marriage again.

"Of course, I believed them. I knew Mother usually went out of her way to get me out of trouble. I won't deny that sometimes I used it to my advantage. But to cause her grief? I couldn't stand it. So I got on the boat and rowed it out into the open lake in hopes of crossing it. Once I got to the other side I would run away as far as possible into the forest where no one would ever find me, where my mother wouldn't have to plead on my account, where my brothers couldn't get to me anymore. But the boat capsized halfway there and my mother came in after me to save me from drowning. I believe Gregor has filled you in on the rest of the story …"

His knuckles had gone pale around the neck of his almost empty bottle. At some point during his story, Elsa had wrapped her arms around herself, but it was only now, at the end of it, that she realized how deeply her own fingers had been digging into her flesh.

"My mother was the only good thing I've ever known in this world," he added. "And she was gone … because of me—"

"I've wished every day since that it had been me who drowned that day."

He raised the bottle to his lips once more and took a long swig.

Elsa cast her eyes down, even though she was aware that in the semidarkness he wouldn't be able to see her feeling empathy for him. Pity is what he would call it. But he would be wrong. Pity was an outsider's emotion. Something a stranger would feel for another stranger—a condescending _tsk tsk_ of the heart that couldn't put itself in the other's shoes. What she felt at that moment was an unshakable ache, as if she had crawled into his bones and could feel ripple for ripple the pain he had carried his entire life.

_And she was gone … because of me._

_ Your sister is dead … because of you._

That was how he had known which words would hurt the most.

Still, even now she couldn't hate him. How does one begin to hate someone who hurts others only because that is how other people have always treated them? How does one hold someone accountable for the sins that shaped them?

"This is all your fault, you know," he said.

Blindsided, Elsa raised her gaze to look at him. "Excuse me?"

"If you had allowed yourself to be wooed the night of your coronation none of this would be happening right now."

Elsa frowned, shocked and indignant at his comment but too pained by his situation to say anything in her defense.

"If you had let yourself be wooed, we'd be married right now, living in Arendelle as king and queen, and I wouldn't be next in line to decapitation."

"Well!" exclaimed Elsa, at a loss for anything else to say.

"It would have been so simple. I think you would have been pleased to find I can be quite charming when I'm not trying to murder people."

Elsa blinked in disbelief. "Are you making jokes?"

"Queen Elsa," said Hans, a cynical smile definitely on his groggy face now. "I've … less than twelve hours left to live … there isn't much left for me to do but to try and lighten the mood. What harm can it possibly do now?"

Elsa was stunned. She knew he was trying to make light of the situation, to erase the heaviness of everything he had just told her. Still, she was having a difficult time seeing humor in the teasing words of the man who had once tried to kill her. Surely his ongoing intake of alcohol was also altering his thoughts. She shook her head and looked away, not sure if she was more appalled by his dark humor or by his rapid intoxication.

"It would have all been so simple. You'd be my wife, I'd be king, and I'd be commanding Arendelle's army into the shores of the Southern Isles right about now, declaring war—"

"If I'd allowed myself to be wooed by you, as you like to put it, it's more likely that I'd be dead right now."

Hans shook his head. "Nah. Don't you see? You were the _heir_. There would have been no need to kill anyone. I would have had you and Arendelle and everything would have been perfect."

"And you suppose that just because I married you I would have let you take command of my army and other matters of my kingdom just like that?" Elsa asked, unable to restrain her arguments, knowing full well that reasoning with him in this state was useless.

"I would have been sneaky," he said with a smirk. "I would have snuck around while you were asleep and fixed things to my own liking. You never would have noticed a thing."

Elsa pursed her lips. "Well, for your information, that wouldn't have worked, seeing as I have terrible insomnia and hardly ever get a full night's sleep."

Hans chuckled lowly. "Then I suppose, had we been married, neither of us would have gotten much sleep."

He glanced at her swiftly, with that sly look still upon his face before raising the bottle again, his smirk visible behind the hand that held the bottle to his lips.

A sudden heat flushed through Elsa from her head down to her torso. That comment had been plain enough, and yet she had felt as though something secret had been implied by it. Whatever it was (she dared not pursue it, not even in her own thoughts), it left her with an unfamiliar warmth in her face and an inexplicable sense of embarrassment—she could hardly look him in the face now and she scarcely knew why.

"Well, whatever happens tomorrow, I know one good thing will come of it," said Hans. "I'll be a ghost and I'll be able to haunt Jon and the rest of my brothers no matter where they are or what they're doing. It'll be payback time. Wonder what I'll do first—pull on their feet at night or pull down Jon's trousers in public?"

Before Elsa could stop herself, a tickled breath broke through her lips and a soft, premature chuckle betrayed her as she shook her head, the corners of her mouth slightly turned up.

"Well," said Hans, eyes on Elsa. "What do you know? The Snow Queen does smile after all."

Elsa looked up, startled by his observation, the heat returning to her face.

"That reminds me," he said. "I have something for you."

Elsa frowned as he stood and retreated further into his cell.

"Something for me?" she asked.

He returned to the gate once more and handed her a narrow stack of letters.

"What's this?" she asked.

"Turn them over."

Elsa did as he said and on the other side found Arendelle's crest embedded into the wax seal. Frowning, she opened the first letter.

Her father's handwriting filled the page. Her eyes skipped over the body of the letter to find his signature at the bottom.

"What—where—" she began.

"I heard Jon promised you information on the origin of your powers," said Hans. "I took the liberty of reading through these. As you will see, your father was keeping in correspondence with my father. He asks a lot of questions about Queen Margrith …"

Elsa scanned the first two letters. There they were: her father's inquiries about Queen Margrith. He asked King Julius why she was called the Margrith the Cold, why she had abdicated, and were there any reasons unknown to the public that would cause her to leave the throne so mysteriously?

"I think he suspected there may have been a link between the two of you," Hans added.

"A link?" said Elsa.

"Well, you see, there's an old folk tale here that speaks of a queen that froze the Southern Isles through three whole seasons. It's a fairy tale that children here grow up with. They call it The Tale of the Three Winters Queen. Coincidentally, Queen Margrith was known as Margrith the Cold and is known to have reigned for just one winter season before she abdicated."

"And you think Queen Margrith could be the Queen from the story?"

Hans shrugged. "Who knows. She lived so long ago that it might be possible. A story, after being retold for so long, starts to evolve. It loses old details and gains new ones until one day it hardly resembles what it originally was. Centuries later it would be hardly recognizable. However, given recent circumstances—namely, your power to create snowstorms out of thin air—who's to say it isn't all real? Who's to say Queen Margrith wasn't the infamous leading lady in that suddenly familiar story?"

"It doesn't make any sense," said Elsa. "Queen Margrith abdicated because she fell in love with a commoner. I think there would be some mention of her having ice powers somewhere. It's not something people quickly forget—believe me, I know."

"Well, that's just it," said Hans. "There's no mention of Queen Margrith in the books after she abdicated. She was basically disowned. No one bothered to keep track of her life after—where she went, if she married or had children. Her lineage completely disappears. There isn't even a date of death. Whenever we got to her part of the history lesson all our tutors were keen on was reminding us that she was no more than a symbol of shame to a monarchy of upstanding men who ruled till death."

Flabbergasted, Elsa looked down at the letters as if she had been handed mismatching parts of a jigsaw puzzle, at a loss as to what she was supposed to do with all this information. She could see how the two stories of Queen Margrith and the Three Winters' Queen were connected, but it just didn't seem like enough to go on.

"There were more letters," Hans added, "but it was safer just to steal a few so Jon wouldn't get suspicious."

"How _did_ you manage get these?" Elsa asked dubiously.

"That's not important," he said. "I was going to have Gregor hand them to you tomorrow, but since you're already here …"

She chose not to press him. After all, it was the first nice thing he had done for her in fifteen years. Briefly forgetting about what important clues the letters might contain, she realized her father's hand now sat in her own—a part of him come to visit her from the past.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at Hans, blinking back the sudden moisture from her eyes.

Hans turned his gaze down to the letters in her hand. "Jon was never going to give them to you after what you did … and I owed you, so—"

"You don't owe me."

"I owe you," Hans said firmly.

"You're still in here because of me," she said. "None of what I did helped, and now …"

Her words trailed off as her emotions surged to the very surface of her skin. She closed her mouth before the tears could rise up to her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she muttered.

Outside, thunder rumbled. The ground beneath their feet shook slightly.

"You're insane, did you know that?" said Hans, but his tone didn't possess the sharp edge that Elsa was used to hearing.

A crack of lightning lit their shadows up against the wall and a gust of wind whipped through the entrance into the dungeons, blowing out the last flame of the torch of the wall. In an instant they were submerged in utter darkness.

Startled, Elsa looked up. "The light's gone out."

"That's alright," said Hans. "I don't need it."

Elsa turned towards him, staring into the darkness and into the place where she knew he was standing. "I … I should probably go now."

There was silence as her words echoed softly through the emptiness. She wished he would say something. She couldn't see him; she felt alone, like she was talking to herself.

"Thank you, again," she added. "You have no idea how much this means to me."

"Don't mention it."

It hit her then that this would be the last time she would be able to see him, to look into those emerald eyes—and it was already too late, for she couldn't make any part of him out in the darkness.

She wrapped her fingers gingerly around the bars.

"I think … had circumstances been different … it would have been nice to get to know you."

"Perhaps," he said. "In another life."

She felt his fingers lightly graze her thumb as he wrapped them around the same bar, the warmth of his hand extending out to hers.

Her distress at not being able to see him left her as she realized she could still feel his presence. She closed her eyes, and there—his warmth was palpable.

"Elsa?"

He didn't use her title and she didn't bother correcting him. What did it matter? In the darkness they were both the same.

"Yes?"

"Thank you," he said. "For everything."

Elsa nodded, knowing full well he couldn't see her. To speak would have betrayed the knot lodged in her throat.

Squeezing the bar in her hand, she thought, _I could do it. I could freeze these bars until they break. I could end his agony, give him a real second chance. I could let him free …_

But how would she answer to what she'd done? If she stayed, Prince Jon would have her arrested and likely hanged. Running away wasn't an option, not with Anna and Kristoff and the castle staff still on the island, left behind to pay for what she'd done.

She couldn't be that irresponsible. She couldn't try to save him again. Her only choice was to leave things as they were. To walk away with all her ache as she left Prince Hans to die.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, the pain in her words louder than her voice as two traitorous tears spilled from her eyes.

She gave the bars one last squeeze before turning and hurrying out of the dungeons.

Rain beat down on her as she stepped out into the open air, soaking through her cloak and clothes, plastering her hair to her face. The raindrops felt like needles, like ice, piercing her entire body except for the few warm droplets that streamed down her face.

Slowly, she trudged through the rain and wind, not even sure in which direction she was headed. She looked up every now and again at the one castle light still burning bright in the distance for guidance, praying that whoever it was that was still awake wouldn't suddenly put it out and leave her stranded with no sense of direction.

She closed her eyes. Everything was spinning around her. Cold coursed through her veins and she knew it wouldn't be long now before it all broke loose and took over the Southern Isles.

_Pull yourself together._

She was shivering. Never before had she felt such numbing, immobilizing cold before. She leaned against a tree to regain her strength.

"Queen Elsa, is that you?"

Elsa looked over her shoulder at the familiar figure approaching her.

"Gerda…" she said, her voice weak.

"Your Majesty!" exclaimed Gerda, rushing to her side. "What on earth are you doing out in this storm? You'll catch your death of cold!"

"I couldn't sleep," said Elsa, resorting to the reply that had become automatic for her.

"Good heavens! We must get you to your room and into some dry clothes immediately!"

Elsa simply nodded—it was all she had the energy to do. Gerda's voice sounded far away.

"Come now, Your Majesty," said Gerda taking her by the hand.

As Elsa came away from the tree trunk she had been leaning onto for support, the ground beneath her swayed. Her knees gave way.

"Queen Elsa!" exclaimed Gerda.

Elsa nodded again. She licked her lips. Her mouth was dry.

Gerda held her fast by the hand and put her arm around her back.

"Your Majesty, you're burning up!"

_Freezing_, Elsa thought of saying, but the words never made it out of her mouth.

"Come on, let's get you inside quickly!"

She nodded again. How terribly dry her throat felt, how very cold her bones were.

Elsa took two more steps and Gerda's anguished cries were the last thing she heard before everything went black.


	16. Chapter 11

**A/N: **Just dropping by quickly to thank everyone that read, reviewed, followed, etc. Thank you guys so much! Only one more chapter after this one left!

Thanks to my beta** flubbergutter **for her amazing work editing this fic!

Enjoy! :)

**ELEVEN**

A hazy fog hung around the ballroom, blurring the shapes of the colorful bodies that swayed from side to side. Elsa watched their shadowed outlines move about the room with ease while the fog engulfed her. She felt it pressing on her, suffocating her, as if she had been thrown into a pillowed box with no exit.

The vapor seemed to cling to her skin, thick enough that she found herself taking heaving breaths. Her chest was heavy and she was quickly growing weary. As the fog closed in on her she wished more and more that the night would end so that she could retreat to her room.

In spite of the pressure, she shivered. Beads of perspiration clung to her forehead but Elsa felt the familiar cold inside her intensify to an almost unbearable degree. In all the years that she had suffered with her curse, never had the frost that ran through her veins felt so numbingly painful. The ice seemed to harden and expand beneath her skin, like a single, pulsing force trying to break free.

In the next instant, he stood beside her. When Elsa turned to look at him he was bowing with perfect form.

"I was wondering if Her Majesty would grant me the great honor of having the next dance."

The light of the chandelier glinted off his auburn hair as he brought himself to a standing position again. His green eyes were captivating; even if she had been surrounded by forty other women, Elsa sensed that he could make her feel like she was the only girl in the room.

But surely it was all a gimmick. The sparkle of her golden crown was his only incentive to be charming.

Elsa knew she should walk away, but what had that solved the last time?

"All right," she said, and extended her hand for him to take.

It was then that Elsa realized she wasn't wearing her gloves and with a sharp intake of breath she tried to retract her hand, but she wasn't quick enough. His fingers where fast around hers before she could change her mind. He, on the other hand, seemed unperturbed by the unusual coldness of her skin. He never flinched, never faltered as he gingerly led her onto the dance floor, appearing and disappearing through the haze.

Slowly, they began to sway in rhythm to the melancholy waltz. The music seemed to play from a distant, faraway place, at times almost feeling as if it were coming from inside her own head.

The room began to rock out of sync with their steps and Elsa dug her fingers into his shoulder to keep steady. With every motion the floor dipped and came up as if they had been dancing on the deck of a moving ship.

"I know why you're here," she said to him, when she had garnered enough energy to speak.

The music filled the silence and when he didn't speak, Elsa lifted her gaze to the side of his face.

He, however, kept his eyes firmly forward. "Then you must know you can't stop what's coming."

Elsa frowned as much as her weak facial muscles would allow. "What do you mean? I'm here… we're dancing… you said that would be enough… I can save Anna… I can save you…"

He turned slightly so that he was looking down at her from the corner of his eye.

"True… but who's going to save _you_?"

"Save _me_?" asked Elsa. "I don't need saving."

"Who's going to stop you from freezing more hearts?"

"That won't—" she began. "I—I have control now. I won't let it get away from me again."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Then I have just one more question."

Elsa waited, her breathing getting heavier.

He stopped moving and looked her squarely in the eyes.

"Could you fall for me?"

Elsa blinked, the question striking her so that her chest hurt as she tried to breathe in the dense air faster.

"Could I … what?" she began, stunned, starting to repeat the question as if to ensure she'd heard correctly, unable to finish it as she absorbed its absurdity. "No! Certainly not!" she continued, recovering from her shock. "That's impossible … after everything … no!"

But even after her passionate reply, he didn't budge. Not even the flicker of an eyelid or the twitch of a muscle to give her some sign that he was withdrawing. Still, his eyes remained fixed on her, waiting, as if she hadn't even spoken a word, as if somehow he suspected that wasn't her final answer.

Elsa swallowed and her gaze flickered away. A nagging feeling inside her whispered that maybe she wasn't being completely honest. Maybe he wasn't completely wrong.

"Maybe under different circumstances …" she said quietly, "… if things had been different … in another life, perhaps …"

She heard it before she saw it, the familiar sound of ice crackling as it hardened. She threw a sideways glance at their joined hands, still suspended in midair, watching as his skin transformed to crystal.

A low, desperate _"No" _escaped her lips. She pulled her hand away and stepped back, watching in horror as every last inch of him was quickly engulfed in ice.

"No, please, no!" she repeated. "No, no, no, no, no!"

_"She's burning up!"_

_ "I'm so sorry, Your Highness, I didn't know what else to do! I was out checking the ship's preparations when I found her outside the castle doors. She looked so weak already—"_

_ "That's all right, Gerda, it's not your fault. Get me a basin with some cold water and a rag, please."_

_ "Yes, Your Highness, right away."_

_ "Place her on the bed, Kristoff."_

_ "What do you suppose happened?"_

_ "I don't know. She's been under so much pressure lately … I think … maybe she's losing control again …"_

_ "You think so?"_

_ "I don't know."_

_ "Because … if that's true, then maybe … maybe it's not safe for you here … the last time she—"_

_ "It's as safe for me here as it is for anyone else. I'm not leaving her."_

_"Do you suppose …?"_

_ "What?"_

_ "The storm … is it her?"_

_ "No. Her powers are snow and ice, not rain and wind …"_

_ "But it _is_ snow. Haven't you noticed? It's just melting before it hits the ground …"_

Elsa spun around. "Anna?"

The fog had grown so thick that nothing was visible around her.

"Anna?" she called again. "Is that you?"

A shadow appeared and Elsa knew it was her.

"Elsa, what have you done?"

Elsa hurried over to her, following her voice, but every time she seemed to find her, it turned out she wasn't there.

"I'm sorry," cried Elsa. "I didn't meant to … Anna, you know better than anyone how much I wanted to help him …"

"You're a hazard to everyone, Elsa."

"Anna, please—"

"Now Prince Hans is dead … because of you."

Elsa stopped and pulled her balled fists into her chest. She stared without looking into the white depths of the fog surrounding her.

Her breath left her all at once, as if the wind had been knocked out of her. She had seen him freeze, but the truth of it had not hit her until she heard those words—

How many times was she going to have those words repeated to her?

"It's my fault …" said Elsa, raising a hand to her mouth. "It's all my fault."

Anna was right. She was a hazard to everyone. No matter what she did, she would always be in danger of obliterating everything in her path.

She was a fool to think she could ever be free, holding onto some belief that by giving Hans a second chance she could somehow prove herself worthwhile. But she had had no effect in saving him. And still the curse raged on inside her like an animal breaking out of its cage.

_"What do you mean he's escaped?"_

_ "Just heard it from the boys down by the ship. The carriage carrying him from the dungeons to the town broke down in the middle of the storm. They're searching for them everywhere."_

_ "Oh."_

_ "There are rumors it might've been planned. They can't find him, Prince Gregor or the guard that was supposed to escort him. They're saying he might be an accomp—Anna, are you alright?"_

_ "What? Yes. Yes, I'm fine."_

_ "Your freckles have gone white."_

_ "No, I—I'm fine, really."_

_ "How's Elsa?"_

_ "Still out of it."_

_ "All right. Well, I'm gonna go see what else I can find out."_

_ "Kristoff?"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Stay close."_

Elsa looked up to find the fog dispersing. The sun was shining somewhere and suddenly she was in the shadowed garden, on her knees, looking up at the blue skies that peeked through the trees.

A rustling of leaves caught her attention and she turned to the iron fence to find him standing behind it. Quickly, she rose to her feet.

A dense snow covered the grounds beyond the fence. Behind her the sun shone brightly, ahead of her the skies were clouded and the hills were covered in blankets of white. A shower of light flurries floated over from the clouds beyond the fence to where she stood.

Elsa approached the iron fence. Once she stood in front of him, he opened his hand to reveal a perfect rose of ice.

She stared in disbelief. "Is this the same one from when we were children?"

"You and I were never children, Elsa."

Elsa looked up at him through the bars. A pang of pain crossed her chest before she looked back down at his hand. She opened up her own palm and allowed him to drop the crystal rose upon it.

"It never melted," she said. "How's that possible?"

"Some things never change at their core."

Elsa looked up. She glanced at the winter that blazed around him while he stood firmly without a coat or cloak, impenetrable to the harsh wind.

"Aren't you cold?" she asked.

"No."

She stared at the familiar whiteness beyond the fence and was filled with a longing for something lost.

"Do you want to be on this side?" he asked.

Elsa looked back at the sprouting summer behind her, the greenness of the leaves and the vibrant colors that surrounded her. It was warm and inviting, but it all felt foreign to her. There was a disconnect—like being inside the beautiful house of a stranger. The extravagance and had its allure, but there was nothing like going home to the familiarity and comfort of a chaos one could understand.

She turned back to Hans and nodded.

"Then break the lock," he said. "You're the only one with the power to do it."

Elsa's brow creased. She turned her gaze to the lock that maintained the gates to the iron fence. She had no key and neither did he. There was only one logical way for her to do this.

She placed her hand on it, summoned the frost inside her until it passed through her fingers and the metal lock was covered in ice. Except that she didn't stop there. The ice spread past the lock, to the chains, to the very bars that made up the fence. An explosion of ice resounded and the fence, which had stood sturdy and unfaltering in this place for years, crumbled to the ground in pieces.

Elsa took a few steps forward. A breeze caressed her face. The way the cold prickled her nose, the sound of crunching ice beneath her feet—it all filled her with a sense of relief. She felt as though she was finally allowing herself to breathe.

It made sense now. The cold was her home, her soul, her very essence.

She looked up at Hans.

The cold was something she understood. It was inherent in her, something she would never be able to part with. Why try and keep fighting the truest part of all that she was? Why not accept it and live at peace with her light and her dark?

The bright sun reflected off the white snow. Elsa squinted her eyes in the blinding light.

"An accomplice!"

Elsa's eyes fluttered open before shutting tightly again. The curtains of her bedroom had been drawn back and sunlight was washing over her, blinding her.

"Of all the _insulting_—how dare you even suggest such a thing!"

Elsa opened her eyes again and saw Anna's small figure dwarfed by that of a man who seemed too large to even pass through the open door.

"Explain then how it is your sister managed to invoke a freak storm on the same day that Hans was supposed to be executed? I suppose you'd like us to believe it was pure coincidence?"

_Prince Jon_, Elsa acknowledged to herself.

"I never suggested that it was a coincidence," said Anna, suddenly much calmer, her voice sounding smug now.

"Aha!" said Prince Jon.

"No, in fact I don't think it was a coincidence at all—I think you tried to kill her!" said Anna.

"Try to—have you gone _mad?_" exclaimed Prince Jon.

"Am I supposed to believe that while staying at the home of the relatives of the man that once tried to kill her, not a single one of you would like to have finished the job?"

"That's preposterous!"

"No more preposterous than insinuating she was an accomplice in Prince Hans' escape! She has been ill and unconscious all night and I've been worried sick for her, and you have the nerve to show up here and accuse her—_us_—of treachery!"

"She wanted him freed!"

"She wanted _justice!_" Anna shouted, nearly hysterical, standing on the very tip of her toes as if that could somehow make her as large as Prince Jon. "And _you_ tried to poison her!"

"What nonsense!"

"Speak the truth, Prince Jon!" said Anna. "Out of thirteen brothers, you can't think of _one_ who'd like to get rid of my sister?"

Elsa detected a slight hesitation before Prince Jon's response finally came. "Certainly not!"

"Well, one of them already did, and it's your word against mine! One quick message to Arendelle and we'll have troops marching in here declaring war on your kingdom. Accuse my sister one more time of being an accomplice, and I swear—"

"All right, enough!" bellowed Prince Jon, the force of his voice tipping Anna slightly backward. Elsa balled her fists and tried to summon her powers to them as a precaution. However, she was still too weak and though a flash of cold coursed through her, it was gone almost as quickly as it had come.

"I want you two out of this castle and off my lands before sundown whether her health improves or not! A minute longer and you'll be tried for treason as well!"

He turned on his heel and left. Anna slammed the door behind him and stuck her tongue out at it.

"Anna?" said Elsa hoarsely.

Anna whipped her head around. "Elsa! You're awake!"

She rushed over to Elsa's side and sat on the edge of the bed, leaning over Elsa's body to hug her. "Oh, thank goodness!"

Sitting upright once more, words began to spill out of Anna's mouth at a speed faster than Elsa's tired mind was ready to deal with.

"How are you feeling? Gerda found you wandering around just outside the castle last night in the storm. I was so scared! I didn't know what to do. You had the highest fever and you just wouldn't come to. You tossed and turned all night and mumbled … _things _… incoherent things. You were out of it, of course. Then that idiot came in here saying all kinds of foolish things. I thought when the storm began to clear up that it meant you were getting better but I still wasn't sure, I didn't want to get my hopes up, I also still wasn't sure that the storm _had_ anything to do with you until now, but," Anna took a deep breath, "how are you feeling?"

"Could I have some water, please?"

"Yes, yes, of course," said Anna quickly, rising and hurrying over to a small table by the window. She filled a glass with water and brought it back. Elsa pushed herself up to a sitting position and thanked her.

"What happened?" Anna asked as Elsa brought the glass to her lips.

"I don't know," said Elsa. "All I remember was feeling cold. A—a numbing cold, like I'd never before felt in my life. Then everything started to spin—"

"Where did you go last night?" Anna asked.

Elsa made a point of taking long gulps of water this time.

"I… couldn't sleep," she said, once she'd come up for air.

Anna watched her in silence for a moment. A question—or several of them—seemed to be growing behind her glowing face. However, her mouth, tightly closed, told Elsa she was fighting her impulse to ask the questions brewing in her mind—questions she'd probably been waiting all night to ask—with everything she had.

Elsa stared into her glass of water until Anna shook her head and with a frenzied flutter of her hands and stood up. "Well, it doesn't matter. You're awake now and you're all right and we can finally leave this god-forsaken place. I'll tell Gerda to let the crew know we're ready to leave."

Anna practically ran to the bedroom door—but just before she reached it, she halted and swung around on her heels to face her sister once more.

"Elsa?"

"Yes?" Elsa asked.

Anna's brows knitted.

"What's the matter?" Elsa prompted.

At last Anna exhaled loudly and spoke. "He escaped."

The muscles of Elsa's face all relaxed into an expression of surprise. She could hear her heartbeat in her ears. Before she could gather her thoughts enough to ask any questions, Anna added:

"Just … I just thought you'd like to know."

She gave Elsa a small smile. It wasn't very enthusiastic, but she was doing her best to reassure her sister, to let her know they were in this together. She turned and left the room without another word.

Elsa sank back into her pillows, gripping the glass of water with both hands, thinking about what Anna had just told her.

He was free. After all her efforts, after all her anguish, he was free to have his second chance after all. And in some strange way that she couldn't quite explain, she was free too.

Elsa turned her gaze to the balcony doors, toward the dazzling light of the new day. She closed her eyes, let the sun warm her face and breathed deeply, feeling her entire body relax for the first time in weeks. The sky was awake. Now, so was she.


	17. Chapter 12

**A/N: **Okay, guys, this is it-THE FINAL CHAPTER. I want to take a moment to thank everyone once again and for the last time, for reading, following, reviewing, and just overall taking time out of your daily lives to give this fic the time of day. THANK YOU ALL SO SO SO MUCH! You guys make the experience so much more awesome and worth it. :)

To my wonderful beta **flubbergutter**: it has been an utmost pleasure working with you. Thank you so much for taking time out to fix my numerous errors and for all your advice. You are gifted and brilliant and one of the nicest people I've had the pleasure to talk to. Thank you ever so much for all your help.

Fun fact: the last scene in this chapter was actually the first scene that popped in my mind when I first had the idea for this fic. I then basically had to work backwards to get to where I wanted to go. It took me the best part of two years but I DID IT! And just as I promised, the story is finished and here it is posted in it's entirety.

Hope you guys like it!

Enjoy! :)

**TWELVE**

_There's something broken about this_

_I might be hoping about this_

_Oh, what a sin._

\- Hozier, _From Eden_

Papers lied strewn across the center of the blue carpeted floor of the library. White and beige clouds on a cerulean sky. The chandelier hung above them bright and yellow shining like the fresh morning sun. But Anna's jaw stretched wide open as she yawned, bringing a closed fist over it reminding Elsa that outside the skies were black and heavy with night, much as she would like the day to go on forever.

Elsa put down the file of papers in her hands. "We should probably go to bed now."

"Huh? What? No, no, I'm good. I can keep going," said Anna halfway through her yawn.

"Anna, it's past midnight," said Elsa already pushing herself onto her feet. "We can keep going tomorrow."

"But this is important," said Anna fighting a second yawn.

"And this will all still be here tomorrow," replied Elsa. "I've lived with this mystery for fifteen years, I can live with it another night."

Elsa stood and stepped over to the bookshelves, where she proceeded to place the fat book she was carrying in her hands.

"Wait a second—" said Anna suddenly, in a voice more awake than she'd had for the last three hours. She started drawing invisible symbols in the air with her index finger while mumbling incoherently to herself. "… borrow from the four … minus one … fifteen years … yes, yes, of course!"

Elsa peered at her sister curiously over her shoulder.

"Elsa, do you remember the first time you knew about your powers?" Anna asked.

Elsa frowned. "Of course. The day when you suddenly start freezing everything you touch is usually the sort that stays in your mind forever."

"That's it!" said Anna standing and stepping over the sea of papers. "You weren't born with them like we believed, were you? I mean, you didn't actually show any signs of having powers until you were much older!"

"I'm not sure I understand what you're trying to say," said Elsa turning now to fully face her sister.

"How old were you when you first experienced your powers?" asked Anna.

Elsa stopped a moment to think. "Six. Why?"

Anna held a long parchment with a long text in small print stretching across most of its space. A series of stamps and seals decorated the lower part along with five different signatures.

"This," Anna began, "is the decree that states that as of 1825 any first female born to the royal family may rule the throne should the reigning King or Queen fail to provide a male heir before their demise!"

Elsa looked at the decree, her brow furrowing. "Yes. And?"

"Don't you see?" said Anna. "This decree came into law when you were six years old!"

"I'm sorry but I don't follow."

"Elsa," said Anna. "Papa was worried that he'd never have a male heir, so he pushed this decree into law. He didn't know, did he? He didn't know he would trigger the curse by changing the law and giving you the possibility of becoming queen."

Elsa took the parchment into her own hands. She recognized her father's signature on the bottom right.

"Think about it," said Anna. "You said that _Hans-thingy_" (she was still having a hard time calling him by his'human' name, as she'd so creatively put it) "told you that papa seemed to suspect a link between you and Queen Margrith, because of all those questions he was asking in his letters to King Julius. Coincidentally, no female since Margrith's reign has ever ruled over any of the colonies. Shortly after taking the crown she gained the title of Margrith the Cold and then barely lasted a whole year before she abdicated!"

Elsa looked up to meet Anna's shinning enthusiastic eyes. Parts of her were fighting to believe what Anna was saying while other parts argued that it was too wild a theory to be true.

"I don't know, Anna …" said Elsa. "There are too many missing pieces—"

"But it adds up!" Anna insisted. "Papa wrote to King Julius of the Southern Isles to ask about Queen Margrith because he already suspected your powers and hers were linked in some way, and he was right!"

"But King Julius never confirmed—"

"Perhaps King Julius didn't know himself!" said Anna. "The myth of the Three Winters Queen was so old by the time we were born. All they knew about Margrith was that she abdicated after ruling for one winter season, that information could've been altered!"

Elsa chewed on her lower lip for a moment, holding back with her every fiber from jumping along with Anna's ideas. It was much easier to remain skeptical than to get carried away and suffer the pain of having been wrong and being tossed back into the dark.

"There must be more letters!" said Anna. "King Julius' replies! We need to search the whole castle and—"

Anna's rant was suddenly interrupted by one wild and irrepressible yawn.

Elsa looked at her sister and partly thankful for this show of exhaustion, she tenderly said, "We'll search the whole castle tomorrow. For now, bed."

"But, Elsa—" said Anna through a mouthful of air.

"Come on, we won't be able to think straight or see things clearly if we stay up much longer. Help me clean up and we'll continue tomorrow."

Without further argument, though she had half a mind to continue doing so, Anna conceded to end the research session for the night.

While gathering papers and books off the floor, Anna, who continued her idle chatter and whose enthusiasm could hardly be taken down by the strongest fatigue, spoke again.

"It was certainly nice of him to give you all this information."

"Who?" asked Elsa absentmindedly before realizing to whom Anna was referring. "Oh!" she said her muscles tensing up."Yes, well, I suppose he felt indebted to me."

"I'll say," said Anna. "It's not every day the victim tries to put in a pardon for the man that tried to murder her."

Elsa turned look at her sister.

"I know, I know!" said Anna raising her hands defensively though rolling her eyes. "Forgive and forget, blah, blah, blah. I know the drill. Forgiveness is great. I guess. I'm just making an observation, that's all."

Elsa wanted to laugh at her sister but opted for a subtle sympathetic smile instead.

"I'm still going to carry that blade in my boot, though. Just in case," Anna added.

Elsa's smile widened with amusement.

"Well, I'm off to bed," said Anna, repressing yet another yawn as the last of the papers had been put away. "Don't be up too late. I know you like roaming around the castle like a ghost late at night, but we've both had a long day and tomorrow's going to be even longer if we plan to turn this place upside down searching for clues."

"I'll be in bed soon, I promise," Elsa said.

Anna left the library and Elsa lingered behind gazing over her father's collection of books, wondering if any of them hid any more clues that could unveil the secrets of the curse that had bounded her for years. An excited thrill rushed through her at the thought. Sure, there was a possibility that it might not lead to a solution, but after the bizarre set of fever dreams she'd had while still in the Southern Isles, she had woken up enlightened, as if in those dreams she had deciphered a long standing mystery.

For the first time she had seen her powers as a part of herself. A side of something only she could contain and understand. A characteristic—just like Anna's irrepressible need to speak each thought as it entered her mind, or Kristoff's inner need for time away from people. Her powers were more herself than any other part of her and for the first time she was contented, having finally accepted them for what they were. Finding out their origin would give her some peace of mind, but even that felt unnecessary at this point. She finally understood that her powers were like an extra sense that was hers and hers alone.

Elsa stepped out of the library and after wading through the corridors ended up at the ballroom. Anna's warning not to stay up late rang in her mind, but Elsa felt the need to step out into the grounds for a quick stroll. It was a habit now that she feel the night breeze on her face and watch the stars twinkle above, let them lull her busy brain to sleep.

She stood at the front end of the hall, watching as it extended into darkness in front of her. Pearly white moonlight streamed in through the ceiling-tall windows with their sheer white curtains, one which had been left open fluttering gently in the night breeze all the way at the other end of the hall.

Elsa took a moment to take in the ballroom in its vast emptiness. In a second her mind filled it with music and people who twirled and dipped and swayed merrily around her with bursts of color, light and laughter.

The scene, of course, couldn't be complete without the naval officer that had stood to her right, bowing, auburn hair glistening, asking for a dance.

Goosebumps rippled down her arms before she forced the memory away.

She decided that tonight time alone with her thoughts wouldn't do her much good. Sleep would just have to come to her without the reassurance of the night breeze and skies.

She stepped forward, headed towards the window at the end of the hall to close it before heading upstairs. But she froze almost instantly when she noticed a figure standing just beside it hiding in the shadow of the wall.

The skin was translucent even in the dark, the white shirt with its rolled-up sleeves glowing boldly like a light. His hair brushed neatly back, the face fresh and clean-shaven. It was like the vision from her memory come to live except for a few minor differences. Elsa gasped, for a second unsure whether she was seeing right.

But with one step towards her, stepping into the dull light that poured in through the window, Elsa knew she wasn't imagining him. The red of his hair poignant among all the dull, matte gray shades of the night.

"Good evening, Your Majesty."

His voice pierced the silence and penetrated right through her skin unto the very core of all her nerves. They lit up inside her. She summoned the frost within her to action without a moment to spare. She was like a cat perking up its ears, claws out, every hair standing on end.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, surprised she could find her voice. "How did you get in?"

"There's not much a bottle of the Southern Isles' best aged scotch can't do to loosen up some stiff guards. They become so at ease they sometimes fall completely asleep. Tomorrow they won't even remember having drunk."

He took as few steps as he approached her.

Elsa held her hands up defensively, the frost forming on her fingertips. "Don't come any closer."

The sound of ice cracking as it expanded resonated above her. She didn't need to look to know the chandelier above was now completely covered in ice.

Hans stopped where he stood, though he didn't seem neither frightened nor offended. Placing his hands behind his back, his disposition remained calm as he said, "I can assure you I come in peace."

"Why?" asked Elsa. "Why are you here?"

"Simply to thank you, Your Majesty, nothing more."

Elsa frowned. "To thank me?"

"Certainly," said he. "If it hadn't been for the storm you caused on the day of my execution I never would've been able to escape."

Elsa's cheeks grew warm. "That wasn't on purpose."

Hans smiled complacently. "I'm sure it wasn't, but it helped nonetheless and today I'm standing here because of it."

There was a long pause before Elsa gave in to her curiosity and asked, "How did you—"

"Remember when I said Gregor was out making arrangements?" said Hans, understanding her question before she could finish it. "He was actually out finding a carriage, giving instructions to the rebels that would be waiting to take us to a ship on the other side of the island. Gregor's not one to make any moves without having several back up plans."

"So you'd planned to escape all along?"

"It was always the plan, yes," said Hans. "If I had been banished to Muros—which is what Gregor and I hoped for—it would've been much easier. A plan to sneak me out was in the works. Which is why we needed your plea so much. But when that didn't work out, we needed a plan B. And Gregor wasted no time putting that together. Barnabas promised to assist as much as he could in exchange for freeing his brother. Getting away would be simple. The hard part would be fighting off the guards carrying me off to the square. We didn't know if we'd be able to shake them off. But thanks to the confusion from your peculiar snow and rain storm, it was much easier than we'd hoped."

"I was ill," she said, not sure why there was such a need to be defensive.

"Of course," said Hans. "I don't expect the thought of freeing me from that cell ever even crossed Her Majesty's mind."

Elsa felt her face flood with color and prayed that there were enough shadows falling over her face to hide it.

"So Gregor was your accomplice the whole time?"

"Or rather we could say I was Gregor's accomplice," Hans said.

Elsa's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean?"

The corner of his mouth curled up. "Who do you think has really been the mastermind behind the rebellion?"

"Certainly, not Gregor—"

"Certainly, yes Gregor," replied Hans, clearly amused by her error. "Funny how everyone will always suspect the angry hothead and quickly dismiss the quiet introvert. He sends his regards, by the way."

"Where—" Elsa began.

"His on our ship, just off the southern coast of Arendelle. He made me promise not to frighten you by showing up here tonight. We're headed to the island of Azure. This is simply a stop to replenish our provisions. Don't worry, Queen Elsa—I'm not here to try and take your kingdom away."

Elsa watched him skeptically for a moment. Her hands were still raised ready to attack.

"I've decided to fight for my own kingdom the hard way. As soon as we can raise an army we'll declare war on the Southern Isles and on Jon. It's the only option we have left.

"While I'm here, I also wanted to give you this," he added, reaching behind him and pulling out a roll of parchment from the back of his trousers. Gingerly, he took a step forward. "May I?"

Elsa blinked and then slowly began to lower her hands. "What's this?"

"See for yourself," he said handing her the roll of parchment.

Elsa took it and opened it up finding within it a long outline of a family tree. At the very top of the long parchment stood out the name _Ignotus, King of the Southern Isles b. 1316_ and as Elsa continued to scan the page she also spotted _Margrith, Queen of the Southern Isles b. 1525_ hanging from a line that traced all the way back to Barry the Brute's eighth murdered wife making him her great-grandfather. What surprised her most was the line of marriage that connected her to an unfamiliar male with no title named _Albert Reenberg_.

"Turns out they did keep track of her life after all," said Hans. "They keep it under locked doors, lest anyone find out how Queen Margrith was robbed of her throne."

Elsa's breath had caught in her chest as she'd kept following the line that depicted all of Margrith's decendants. She felt suddenly very weak when almost near the very end she found the only name one that page that could make a direct connection to her already frantic beating heart: _Agnarr, King of Arendelle b. 1793._ Below his was the most familiar name of all: _Elsa, Queen of Arendelle b. 1819._

"You're a direct descendant of Queen Margrith," explained Hans. "As was your father. Turns out she did marry a commoner, but only after she was forced to abdicate. See, our family has had a long standing tradition that only a male son can inherit the throne. When Margrith was born and her mother passed away there were to be no male heirs in her father's bloodline anymore, so our cousins from the north came to fight for their right to take over the crown. The problem was that King Gaius fought back and won. But that didn't mean that the Northerner's had given up. They sought out the help of a known witch and placed a curse on the entire family bloodline, so that if ever there were any females in line for the throne they would quickly be afflicted with uncontrollable ice powers that would put their entire kingdom in peril and so be forced to pass the throne over to the next male in line."

Elsa brought her hand slowly to her mouth, staring at her name and the long line that extended almost half the page up connecting her to Queen Margrith.

"Margrith was the Three Winters Queen and she abdicated to spare her kingdom from her curse. But years later when there was no male heir left to rule Arendelle, it was necessary to go back into the timelines and find a suitable male heir of noble blood, even if that blood had been mixed with that of a commoner's. That's when they found your great-great grandfather and offered him the throne."

"Anna was right," she whispered, reading all the male names that came after Margrith's. "They were all male heirs until my father had Anna and me. He changed the law. My being in line for the throne triggered my curse."

She looked up at Hans abruptly. "Where did you get this? How did you find all of this out?"

His previous smirk returned to his lips. "Turns out you can make Jon sing like a bird when he's got the tip of a sword pressed to his chest."

Elsa's eyes widened. "You went back to the castle?"

Hans shrugged. "I needed a change of clothes."

"That's madness!" she declared. "You could've been caught! You—"

She stopped herself abruptly, suddenly aware of how much concern she was showing for his safety. He, in turn, was watching her with badly suppressed amusement.

She cleared her throat and recalled a tone of coolness and detachment. "Is he still alive?"

"I can assure you the Prince Regent of the Southern Isles lives," said Hans. "I won't deny I was tempted to leave a bloody mark in his silk pajamas, but he called for his guards before I could do anything. Besides, it wouldn't help the rebellion if we just waltzed in and killed him. First we need the get the people on our side and hating him. Then, whatever happens to him won't matter much."

She looked down at the paper again, a surge of warmth she'd ironically come to associate with this man who'd once induced nothing but cold raw fear rose up inside her.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at him.

He gave a small bow of his head.

"I suppose that makes us even again," she said, folding the parchment.

"Does it?"

"Well, as you say," she began. "I, in one way or another, helped you escape. You, in turn, handed me answers to questions I'd been asking my whole life. I think that makes us even."

"I'm sorry, Your Majesty, but I can't say I agree."

As he took a few steps forward, the ice above them crackled. His proximity once again setting her on her guard. Elsa's heel rose an inch off the ground as she set herself ready to run.

"You saved my life," said Hans.

Another two steps closer to her. Elsa nearly crushed the parchment in her hands, ice stiffening around the bones in her fingers.

"As such," he continued. "I will be eternally indebted to you."

He stopped. He looked pointedly into her face and, though fear urged her to look away, Elsa looked back searching for a sign telling her to run while at the same time searching for a sign telling her to stay. Her heart pounded with the most bizarre mixture of fear and excitement.

"By the look on your face, I'd say that doesn't seem to settle well with you."

"I don't want you indebted to me for eternity," said she, her chest stiffening. "I don't believe that you are. What I did—what happened that day—I was ill … none of it was intentional. The pressure and the stress of those two weeks took its toll on me and—well, I lost control again. Had I been able to control my powers perhaps you wouldn't have escaped and at this moment you'd be—

"

She cut herself off. Even now when she was frightened stiff that he'd come to finish what he'd started, she couldn't fathom the idea of his execution.

He smiled again, that artful half-smile as he turned his gaze down.

"All right," said he. "Then perhaps we can call a truce?"

He held his hand out for her to take. Elsa looked at it as if he were holding some strange device on it that she'd never seen before.

"We can start over here and now," he proceeded. "Forget past blunders and begin anew."

Elsa swallowed and pursed her lips and she considered what he was saying. Of course, he could simply be saying that to earn her trust and then dispose of her as he'd once planned to do. But she remembered once having heard a phrase about keeping your enemies close. She figured she could just as well play the same game and pretend like all offenses had been forgiven all the while keeping a close eye on him.

"Very well," said she.

She held her hand out and gently placed it in his. The ice crackled above as she held her breath. She'd half-expected him to pull her down and drive a sword through her torso.

Instead he wrapped his own fingers around her hand and held it there. She was momentarily surprised to find how warm the hand of this cold-blooded villain could be.

Silence reigned between them. She looked up to meet his eyes. His face remained serene. Too serene almost and convincingly so. The sleepy calm of it alarmed Elsa whose relaxed grip suddenly stiffened.

"You should go," she said, still holding his gaze, their hands still joined. "It isn't wise for you to be roaming around the castle."

Still, neither of them moved.

"Very well," he finally said. However, instead of letting go he bowed his head and lifted her hand to his face. Then, to Elsa's shock, he pressed his lips lightly to the back of her hand.

Elsa inhaled sharply as the warmth of his lips sent chills up her arm.

He stood erect once more. "Farewell, Queen Elsa. Perhaps we'll meet again someday."

At last, he released her hand. He gave one final bow of his head before turning and heading back down the ballroom hall.

Elsa clutched her fist to her midriff as she watched him exit through the open window. She stood frozen stiff. Her whole body remained paralyzed in cold, numb shock. Except for the spot his lips had grazed on her skin.

A cold drop of water suddenly splashed on her neck, startling her. She raised her eyes to the frozen chandelier that was now dripping as the ice melted from an icicle hanging just above her. The drop that had fallen on her back rolled down her spine, tracing a chill all the way down.

A conversation she'd once had with Anna while still in the Southern Isles suddenly came back to her. She remembered both of them expressing their wish to be done with the trial, to be back in Arendelle, to move on with their lives and never have to think of Prince Hans or anything having to do with him ever again.

Elsa couldn't help but sense, as the back of her hand still burned with the ghost of his kiss, how very unlikely it was that she should never think of him again.


End file.
